EVENTS WAIT UPON THE DANDELIONS
IN the quiet of the sacristy the priest listened to the stories
of Armando and the banker, and gained a clear knowledge of Juno’s
fantastic plot to secure a marble portrait and a rich husband. So true
did it all ring that Father Nicodemo saw no pressing need to search
the records of the city’s Bureau of Vital Statistics. He told Signor
Tomato it would be enough that he bring the husband in evidence, and
he, the priest, would see to it that the woman was confronted with
him and the truth drawn from her own lips. The holy man saw in their
timely interruption an act of Providence that had saved San Patrizio
from being the scene of a horrid sin. But to Armando the situation had
nothing to offer of comfort. The work of his life had come to naught.
The bust that was to make him a high figure in the American market had
been turned with cruel suddenness to a bit of unvalued stone. Oh, the
mockery of it! Instead of the First Lady of the Land, he had given his
heart and hand and brain to what?--the Last Lady of Mulberry! To the
sculptor’s plaint the banker added his, and the priest, feeling for
them warmly, and knowing no deed that could help, offered them the
anodyne of words. Fellows in misery, they left the church together,
after Armando had searched for and recovered the valise that he had
flung down, he knew not where, when he followed Juno to the altar. Side
by side they walked through Mulberry, exchanging doleful tales. They
were passing before Casa Di Bello, when Signor Tomato halted abruptly
and said:
“Behold, comrade, the root of all our woe! She wanted to get into that
house. Bertino has told me all. But Fate has beaten her as well as us.
’Twixt the wish and the prize high mountains arise.”
They stood a moment looking up at the windows, when the massive door
swung open, and Marianna, clearing the steps at a bound, threw herself
into the arms of Armando, who, by the lucky chance of having just set
down his burdensome valise, was ready to receive her with equal fervour.
“Joy! Grand joy!” she cried. “He is married, and we are saved.”
“Excuse me,” said the banker. “I will go. _Addio_, my friend; we shall
meet again.”
Muttering a proverb, he made off for the Caffè of the Three Gardens,
where he intended to put up for the night in order to be on hand for
the early morning market and dispose of his remaining dandelions.
“Saved?” said Armando in mournful wonder. “Glory to the Splendid Name,
I have found you--you are left to me, my precious, but all else is
lost. You remember my Juno and the Peacock?”
“The hogs of Genoa had no eyes for its beauty,” she answered.
“Well, I have made another Juno.”
“_Dio!_ What do you mean?”
“The Presidentessa is a Juno.”
They seated themselves on the top stair of the stoop, and dolefully
Armando went over the episode at the church. In a voice that took
flights of passion and with gestures theatric he gave again the cries
of “Long live the king!” that resounded in the Sicilian quarter, and
re-enacted the drama at the altar. Bitterly he told of his delusion
that the haughty woman in the carriage was the Presidentessa, and how
the spell lasted until the sacristans broke it by gripping his arms. He
made known to her a secret that the banker had disclosed to the priest
but had guarded in the presence of Signor Di Bello: Juno’s husband was
Bertino!
So wrapped was Armando in the telling and Marianna in the listening
that neither heard the soft footfall of Aunt Carolina, who had drawn
near and stood at the open door drinking in the delicious narrative.
When he said that the priest had put off the marriage for a week so
that the banker might have time to present his proofs she could repress
her exultation no longer. With an outcry of delight she startled the
young people to their feet.
“Sanctified be the name of Father Nicodemo, and Maria the Spotless
preserve Bertino forever!”
Marianna and Armando stood abashed because detected in the crime of
being together on land after all Carolina’s pains to keep them apart on
shipboard. To his further confusion, she put forth her hand and bade
him enter the house. She would know more of Signor Tomato, this man
who had Bertino in his keeping. Whither had he removed the bust? Where
was Bertino to be found? Armando was able to answer both questions;
also to recite the facts about Bertino’s harmless knife-play upon his
uncle’s shoulder, his flight from the city, and the finding of him by
the banker asleep in a water pipe.
While Armando’s message gave Carolina the elation of promised triumph,
it brought gloom to Marianna. Well the girl read the soul of her
guardian. Surely this sudden revival of Carolina’s spirits had but one
meaning--a return to the scheme of uniting her in marriage with Signor
Di Bello. But the horrid prospect did not strike so much terror to her
soul now, for there dwelt a sweet assurance in the face of Armando,
who was by her side. He would stand between her and this nuptial
danger. She felt a strength equal to a firm repulse of Carolina--a
strength that was lacking two hours before in that awful drive from the
steamship.
For the first time the gristly heart of Carolina pulsed almost warmly
for Bertino. Now he stood forth in white light as the blessed agent who
had kept Juno out of that house--the knight who had slain the dragon
of a threatening wife by marrying her. For once the truth burned into
her consciousness that marriage was a crowning success. Only one more
union--that of her brother and Marianna--and the strife would be over,
her power firmly embedded. She would go to Bertino at once and lend him
the aid he needed; at the same time she would gratify her thirst to
make sure that all was as Armando had recounted.
“To-morrow,” Armando said, “I am going to Jamaica with Signor Tomato.
The signorina could accompany us. Then we shall see poor Bertino
and--my poor marble.”
“Perhaps it shall not prove such a poor marble,” she said, with a look
and nodding of the head that suggested some future act of gratitude for
the helpful service to her cause which the bust had rendered. “When
shall you set off for Jamaica?”
“As soon as Signor Tomato has sold out his dandelions.”
He promised to inform her directly that urgent purpose should be
accomplished and attend her on the journey to Jamaica. But where was
Signor Di Bello? A shuddering dread showed itself in Carolina’s face
as she asked the question, which no one could answer. Had he gone
elsewhere for a priest, and would he return after all with the singer
and that mob of Calabriani, Siciliani, and Napolitani pigs?
At that particular moment her brother was quaffing a glass of his
favourite _barbera_ in the Caffè of the Three Gardens, whither he had
driven to buttress his nerve after setting down Juno at her lodgings.
The ordeal of facing Carolina and explaining matters was one that he
shrank from meeting without due consideration and the aid of vinous
fortitude.
“Courage, my angel,” he had said, as he handed Juno from the carriage.
“On the Feast of Sunday next all will be well. Father Nicodemo will
find that he has been the plaything of idiots, and you shall go with me
to Casa Di Bello.”
Lifting her purple skirts clear of the sidewalk, and taking care that
they did not brush the shabby staircase, Juno climbed to the door of
Luigia the Garlic Woman. To the astonished landlady she observed calmly:
“Signora, I shall need the room for another week.”
“But how is this? You go to church to be married, and you return
without a husband. Body of an elephant! Brides did not so in my day.”
Without making reply Juno went to her little dark room and, removing
the wedding finery, folded the dress with great care, put it in the
trunk, with the yellow boots on top, and closed the lid.
“Maybe I shall need them, after all,” she told herself.
The recollection that her trump card had not been played gave back her
hope of yet entering Casa Di Bello.
The presence of Signor Di Bello, alone and long of face, at the Three
Gardens brought upon his head a rain of banter from a dozen boon
comrades. When the storm of gibes and rib-tickling surmises as to the
cause of his wifeless state had reached its height the form of the
banker darkened the door. Signor Di Bello jumped to his feet, and,
taking the middle of the smoky room, brandished his finger dramatically
at the newcomer.
“There, signori!” he cried, bulging with fury, “there is the dog that
barked away my bride! A meddler, a numskull! He comes from Satan
knows where with a cock-and-bull tale about somebody--Heaven knows
whom--somebody who is the husband of my promised bride. A simpleton of
a priest swallows his story like a forkful of spaghetti, and, presto!
my wedding is put off for a week! By the Egg of Columbus, a fine team
of donkeys!”
“_Infame! infame!_” came from the men at the tables, which resounded
with the blows of their horny fists.
Bridget would have been proud of her Tomato could she have seen him
at this crucial moment. Fine was the scorn with which he looked from
face to face, and, smiling in imperial contempt of the whole company,
dropped into a chair.
“There is a proverb, signori,” he said, “which comes to me at this
moment: Some men heave a sigh when the sun shows his eye.”
“Bah!” roared Signor Di Bello. “Did I not tell you, my friends, that
his head is filled with _polenta_?” (corn-meal mush.)
“And yours has not even _polenta_ in it!” retorted the banker, rising
and clapping his hands close to Signor Di Bello’s face. “If it were not
empty, do you know what you would do? You would thank me for what I
have done to-day. Would you have me tell the name of this husband whom
nobody knows, who comes from Satan knows where? Would you?”
“The name! The name!” from Signor Di Bello and the others.
“Well, his name is Bertino Manconi. Do you know him? No? I will tell
you: he is your nephew. He comes from Genoa. Do you know where that is?
He once put a knife into your shoulder because he caught you playing
the fool with his wife. Do you remember that?”
“Where is Bertino?” asked Signor Di Bello, his voice grave and husky,
every other tongue in the room silenced.
“At my villa in the country. To-morrow you shall see him if you come
with me.”
“I will go with you.”
“Very good. When my dandelions are sold out I shall be at your
disposal.”
It was long past the dinner hour when Aunt Carolina heard the sound
of her brother’s latch-key in the lock. She was in the hall when he
entered. He did not feign surprise at seeing her. They embraced, and
kissed each other on both cheeks.
“You are home a week before I expected you,” he said.
“Yes; I could not leave you alone any longer. Ah! my dear brother, San
Giorgio has watched over us this day.”
“Why?” he asked, though aware that she, like all Mulberry, knew of his
disappointment, and meant his deliverance from Juno.
Carolina answered, pointing to the untouched wedding feast: “We have
many sweets that will not keep. They will be of use to Father Nicodemo
for his poor.”
She could not resist sounding a stealthy note of triumph. A few hours
before he would have answered, “The sweets will keep a week, and then I
shall need them for my wedding feast.” But since the bout with Tomato
his hope had waned steadily, just as the conviction had grown stronger
that the banker’s case against Juno would be proved. Morose of spirit
he sought his bed, sighing as he reflected how ruthlessly the events of
the day had shattered his long-fondled dreams.