Repose

By H. Henry Hobbes

Penny Salvia was a formidable, resourceful, and puckish woman from a large Italian family. On a bench, in New York’s Bryant Park, in the year 1941, on the 8th of August, Aunt Ginny foretold Penny’s future to her on her 18th birthday. This knowledge gave Penny the freedom to enjoy her life without worry of being alone or dwelling in self-pity, for she knew she her lifelong sweetie would find her, but, so too, sorrow frequently would find her.

By the 1950’s, Penny’s career in Manhattan’s fashion district was rising, while at the same time she was steadily falling to spinster status. Just as Aunt Ginny had seen, Penny fell for the man of her dreams. With a heart filled with love and grief, Penny reluctantly chose to give up her family, career in fashion, and sophisticated New York City lifestyle, when her dreamboat brought her up the Hudson River to rural East Nassau in upstate New York’s Rensselaer County.

Penny becomes the Town’s Trollop Wallop, destroyer of Brussels’s sprouts, Queen of the Toboggan, caroler of Christmas, champion to the little guy, and the last woman standing. Throughout, there will be a few laughs, a lot of sighs, and one-too-many cries. Follow her journey, as she navigates small town politics, battles heartless corporations, braves Mother Nature, and faces death itself, all to protect that which is most important.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. Henry Hobbes
• Release date: Aug 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005135010

H. Henry Hobbes

Born in The Bronx, New York, H. Henry lived in several upstate New York towns, before finally settling into Brunswick, where he lives with his wife and cats. When he is not working as a judge, or volunteering at an animal shelter, he spends his free time hiking, gardening, playing electric bass, going to jazz clubs, traveling the Caribbean, and completing the New York Times crossword. Pursuing degrees at SUNY Oswego, in History and Political Science, were secondary to his active involvement in all aspects of the campus media, including newspaper, television, radio, and live sports broadcasting. After having been published in a poetry collection and a law and science journal, H. Henry finally set out to publish his first novel; a deeply personal, labor of love.

Book preview

REPOSE

By

H. Henry Hobbes

[e-mail]

Hocabata Publishing

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2020 H. Henry Hobbes

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction created from my overly-active imagination. Names, characters, and events are products of my mind. If you think you served as the basis of a character or event, feel flattered, but know that is the extent of it. Any resemblance to you, or anyone or anything that you know, is probably a product of your imagination. Those few real places and events that are mentioned within are embellished to fit the story.

Thank you for downloading this eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite book retailer to purchase it in print form, or to an eBook retailer to discover other works by me. Thank you for your support.

Cover illustration and design by: Mark Gregory at markgregoryart.com

ISBN-13: 9781005135010

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

To Jenny,

My Muse, My Support, My Everything.

&

To Hospice Workers Everywhere,

Thank you for the amazing services you perform.

Author’s Note:

Please understand that the language and word choices in this novel were intended to represent the mindset and terms for the period in which they were used. They were included to add authenticity, and not to offend, debase, or denote/promote racism or stereotypes. We cannot ignore our past, we shall not censor free expression, and we must confront bigotry with education.

Copyright

Dedication

Author’s Note

The Salvia Family Tree

Prologue - Curtains

Chapter 1 - Visions

Chapter 2 - When Penny Went Dutch

Chapter 3 - Dutch Treat

Chapter 4 - Honey Moon Suite

Chapter 5 - Intruder Alert

Chapter 6 - Brussels’s Sprouts

Chapter 7 - Go Take A Hike

Chapter 8 - Are You A Fruit?

Chapter 9 - I Sat Next To Catherine

Chapter 10 - Richie to the Rescue

Chapter 11 - We Are Family

Chapter 12 - Can’t Fake 104

Chapter 13 - Council Vote

Chapter 14 - Storm of the Century

Chapter 15 - NOMINE

Chapter 16 - I Am Your Nephew

Chapter 17 - Dream of Death

Chapter 18 - A Small Town Christmas

Chapter 19 - I Am In Repose

Chapter 20 - Good Cannolis

Chapter 21- Code Blue Room 816

Chapter 22 - Back Taxes

Chapter 23 - Silent Prayers

Chapter 24 - Curtains Reprisal

Chapter 25 - Hospice

Epilogue - It Is Time

About The Author

Books By The Author

The Salvia Family Tree

Prologue

Curtains

Penny sat in her familiar recliner. She had not left the chair for nearly a day. The chair was old and worn. Penny and the chair made a matched-set.

The walnut chair was upholstered in deep red and gold velvet. It smelled of birch wood that had long ago burned in the fireplace that stood proudly behind the chair. The arms of the great chair had eroded over time from where fingers dug in, revealing the underlying wooden structure.

To call it Penny’s chair is a misstatement. She may sit on it, sleep in it, and entertain visitors from it, but it certainly was not her chair. This was true, even though she bought the chair and has been its lone occupant for too many lonely years. No. The chair really belonged to Dutch. Ever since he passed, Penny occupied the seat, the throne of the castle. The small, slow-decaying, castle. A lazy brook ran through the backyard like a moat, protecting the home and its people from outsiders, those who would try to take their castle. The siege was relentless, but it did not touch Penny. Not here. Not on Dutch’s throne.

On their wedding day fifty-three years earlier, Dutch and Penny made many promises to each other. None was more important than to honor and protect. These vows were never broken by either. Not even when death did he depart was Dutch going to let harm come to his bride. They would protect their family and their home together. When Penny told Dutch that she would love him no matter what kind of hovel they lived in, she did not realize he was going to put that to the test with this shanty, hours north of her family and civilization.

Visitors came and went, and she just sat peacefully, gazing off into the rich, heavy curtains that blocked the light from entering. The curtains were once vibrant and colorful, meticulously kept clean. For decades, Penny and Dutch would carefully remove the curtains from the rod, rung by rung. Then, bring them out back, hang them from the line, and beat the curtains with a broom to shake the dust out of them. They would wipe the curtains down by hand with warm soapy water. Cool spring wind would then blow the curtains dry, before the couple would toil as they re-hung the curtains.

Until a couple of years ago, cleaning the curtains was not such a chore. She had Dutch around, and he would stand on the ladder up among the curtains, while Penny stood below, helping and holding. She would occasionally offer some advice. Don’t pull too hard, she would suggest.

Dutch never took this personally. He would pause for just a moment, though in his mind it seemed like several minutes. During this recess, he would see the woman who stole his heart and kept it safe all of these years. This would fill him with joy and push any agitation out of his body. In his usual strong, placid voice, he would say Yes, Dear with a smile.

Every spring they went through this ritual. For the first few years, the curtains were no more than just some pretty, heavy-woven sheets they got for their wedding from Aunt Ginny. Penny was humble, but she was embarrassed by hanging sheets for curtains. Having proper curtains was important to Penny, so they became important to Dutch. In his mind, a castle was not a castle without a flag flying bravely for all to see.

The curtains were bought during a trip to Manhattan in 1956. Although Dutch thought everything a person needed could be bought right there in East Nassau, Penny knew the finer things in life could only be bought in New York, aka Manhattan. Her good coat, her best shoes, and stylish clothes had all been purchased in New York. This time, they had travelled to The City to attend the wedding for Mary Ann, Penny’s niece.

Hands interlocked, Penny and Dutch strolled along 46th Street on the west side, towards the piers. Penny loved strolling along the streets of New York; she would window shop for the latest fashions and he would check out the naval ships that sometimes docked at the piers.

Afternoon sun had shone into a shop window, like a spotlight, causing the gold inlay to sparkle and the rich mahogany fabric to burn fiery red. Although the curtains cost a week’s salary, Dutch could not say no to his sweetie. Four days later, Dutch was climbing the ladder to hang the curtains for the first time, starting an annual tradition that would continue for more than forty years.

The last four years had been tough. Penny cleaned the curtains on her own for the first two after Dutch passed away. It wasn’t the same. Everything was harder. She struggled as she brought the ladder up from the basement. She struggled as she slowly climbed each rung. She struggled as she tried to keep her balance, at the same time extending her arms over her head. Reaching, trying to unhook the curtains. What once took an hour to remove, took all day.

Penny was eighty-five years old, but still had the strength of someone much younger than she. Her back was slumped, as if she was carrying way too much weight on it. The weight of eighty-five years, a lifetime of hard work and toil, and the loss of everyone she cherished. When company was around, she tried to keep her smile bright. However, now in her later years, a keen observer could spot some cracks in that smile. She was relatively healthy for her age, and, despite the little amount she ate, she was the proper weight for a person her height. If you asked how she was doing, she would always make mention of her sciatica. Some days it was disabling, yet she still pressed on. A little incapacitating back pain would not stop her from working.

Penny would fatigue; much faster than she ever did before. She was getting old and she was tired. But, it was a matter of pride for her to keep those curtains clean. Friends and family would be entertained in this room. Penny would proudly open the curtains during the morning to let in the sunshine. The gold inlay still sparkled when the sunbeams hit them and the mahogany still burned a fiery red. Her visitors would comment about how beautiful the curtains were. When they were new, her friends were envious of the extravagant drapery and they would tell Penny this. Later, her friends would comment on how well they had held up during the years. Decades later, the curtains still seemed new.

But now, now things were not new. Penny struggled to maintain the tapestries, just as she did with her home. Two years had passed since she last hauled the ladder up from the basement and brought the curtains down. Two years during which the life from the curtains quickly faded. Without the sun, they neither sparkled nor burned.

It’s strange how something can be maintained so well, for so long. How it can seem just as new, decades later, as it was on the first day. Even stranger how quickly something can fade when not properly nourished.

In the year of the curtains’ 50th anniversary, Penny tried to bring them down. And she did, but not as she intended. She had climbed the ever high mountain. She had been up there for several hours. Whispering to herself like she usually did when she was struggling, ok ok, ok ok, ok ok. Her arms were frail and her legs weak, but gosh darn it, she was going to clean these curtains, just as she had every year since she and her husband bought them. Even when Dutch was too weak to go up the ladder, he still found the strength to help her. Penny had not eaten in hours. Ok ok, ok ok, ok ok continued her mantra. As she reached for a rung, she lost her balance, falling back off the ladder. Penny’s legs just had no strength in them, nor did her arms. She could not even reach out to grab onto anything. As she fell, she cried out, Dutch.

Penny landed on the ground, hard, but not as hard as she expected. She wondered how she fell sideways and into the curtains. Penny thought for sure she had been falling backwards towards the merciless ground; certain her head would strike the stone base of the fireplace. The curtains grabbed her, embraced her, and slowed her descent.

She lay on the floor, swaddled in the consoling fabric. The pain in her hip, not as intense as one would expect. Comforted, snuggled in the mahogany and gold, this brought her warmth and security. This peace allowed her to close her eyes and get the first good sleep that she had in years. Penny lay on the floor in slumber like a child clutching her security blanket. That is where she was found by Jamie a day later.

Jamie entered the home in a panic when Penny did not answer her phone or her door, nor had gone out to church. Jamie immediately helped Penny to the chair. Despite being nearly as old as Penny, Jamie did not have much trouble lifting her off the floor. After all, she had plenty of practice taking care of her disabled adult son and aging husband. Penny’s innate stubbornness was not harmed. She refused Jamie’s directive to go to a hospital, claiming that she was ok and that she was saved and healed by the curtain. Jamie eventually relented after she saw Penny get up and walk. Penny promised to go to a doctor if she felt worse.

After that day, Penny stopped cleaning the curtains. She knew that she had dodged an out-of-control wagon that day. She knew that she would not be so lucky again. Andy Muriel, the local handyman, came by a day later and returned the curtains to the rod. He was honest as he was friendly. Ever since Dutch’s passing, he had taken care of the Larson’s grass and snow, and performing other odd jobs. Her nephew Anthony, the only local relative, did not have sufficient skills to do most any basic household repair. Andy had spent hours nailing, cutting, and bandaging, in order to get the curtains up again. They were never the same after that; they never looked quite so clean or fresh.

Visitors stopped commenting on how wonderful the curtains were. They knew about the fall; word travels fast in a village of five hundred. They knew that Penny could not clean them anymore. What was once a badge of honor to Penny was now a billboard advertising her advanced age and inability to take care of herself.

Every day, Penny would sit in the chair and stare into the curtains. They were hardly drawn open anymore; not when the sun visited nor when neighbors visited. She just stared at them dejected.

The curtains reminded her of Dutch. About how she and Dutch picked them out on that day in Manhattan, when they first put them up, and how they cleaned them together every year. Once the curtains were down, they would kiss each other three times on the lips. But the curtains were now more to her. The curtains held Dutch. Penny was positive that Dutch saved her during that fall. Penny knew that Dutch used the curtains, as his arms, embracing Penny to gently bring her to the floor. She had not felt Dutch’s arms around her in nearly four years. She felt cold without Dutch, but felt warm and safe that day in that drapery.

Chapter 1

Visions

Penny Larson came from a large family, a fertile family. Although her last name was now German, Penny was pure-blooded Italian. She had the large nose and olive-colored skin to prove it. This nose was a family tradition, handed down from generation to generation. It was sharp, not bulbous; large, not circus huge. She also had a feisty, stubborn side. Her birth name was Josephine Salvia, but everyone now knew her as Penny Larson. She would remind her doctor that it was Larson with an O, whereas he spelled his name Larsen with an E.

Like her father and siblings, she was a hard worker. There was no resting while there was work to be done, and there was always work to be done. Penny knew better than to complain about being bored. Aunt Rose’s response was always, If you are bored, then I will find something for you to do. Her mother died when she was young, and Aunt Rose moved in to help with the household. Aunt Rose became her surrogate mother. She did not have any children of her own, nor was she actually related to the Salvia’s. Although she and her late husband were unable to have children, she was a natural mother. The Salvia kids loved her like they loved Ma.

The Salvia’s lived in a five-story walkup in the High Bridge area of the Bronx. It was predominately an Italian neighborhood, yet they lived on a Jewish block. Pop always said that the Jews kept the cleanest buildings. To Penny, she did not fully comprehend the difference between Italian families and Jewish families. The facts that the Jewish kids wore yarmulkes and never went out on Friday nights, or were around Saturday mornings, did not seem odd to Penny. It was not until she went to grade school that she realized there was difference, because her family went to Sacred Heart School, without the Jewish kids.

Even as a child, Penny had a mischievous side. Not bad, just playful. She loved a good joke, and to her, they were all good jokes. She also loved to play pranks. When she was ten, she hid the quiz that Sister Geraldine was going to administer that day. For that, she had to stand in the corner, with her arms out, holding a book in each hand. When she was fifteen, she wrote on the chalkboard that biology class was cancelled. Sister Peggy broke a ruler on Penny’s knuckles. Pop never found out about these pranks or other disciplinary issues at school, because her brothers were good at forging Pop’s signature. One lesson every Salvia was taught, and obeyed faithfully, was that you always stick up for your family. Pop did not realize that it also meant sticking up for each other against him.

Penny was fairly tall for a woman. Holding those books in the corner helped her to build up good strength. Maybe the boys were intimidated by her physique; maybe it was her provocative personality that turned them away. Either way, she was often at a loss for a date on Saturday night. If you asked Penny, it was because she had high standards and was not going to settle for any schlub who came along. To see her from across the room in one of her finer dresses, the boys would go crazy. She had that Rita Hayworth, or Lauren Bacall, feminine tall and lean build. But, once they approached her, they usually very quickly cast away with a clever insult, and sometimes a bruised arm to match their bruised ego.

One night, when she was seventeen, became a story that got passed down through the neighborhood, like a worn hand-me-down in a large family. She and her friends had gone bowling. Penny wore a shapely, short-sleeved red blouse with a collar that fit snug around her neck. A grey poodle skirt, with roses embroidered across the front, fell like waves from her waist. The tan leather bowling shoes were not a pretty match, as if anyone paid attention to her shoes. Most of the boys were casting glances at Penny, but one in particular kept checking her out and walking past.

Sal Gianquinto was a tall, dark-skinned, lothario with slicked back black hair and a thin black mustache. If you called central casting for an extra in a gangster film, he would have been the first one sent up. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, taking a pull from his Schaeffer bottle. His dark eyes peering out from behind the brown glass as he cased Penny. Towards the end of her second game, he finally made his move. Placing the lager on the counter, he fished in his pocket for change. Pulling out a nickel, he placed it in the slot of the Rock-Ola. Russ Columbo began crooning ‘Just A Gigolo,’ as Sal slithered up to Penny. He smacked the bottom of the Lucky Strikes box and a cigarette popped up. In one fluid motion, he drew it out with his lips, while pulling a silver lighter out of his jacket pocket. Smoke quickly rose from the cigarette. He smiled like a jackal assessing his prey. A long, slow drag was taken from the cigarette before he finally spoke in his silky voice, We need to contact heaven, because there is an angel here on earth.

Before Sal moved in, Penny’s friends were already telling her that he was on his way. It was obvious that he was interested. The only question was when he would act. Penny had turned and was facing Sal when he arrived. The red lipstick accentuated her smile, baring her white teeth. She stood motionless, holding the fourteen-pound black Brunswick on her outstretched hip. Penny intentionally said nothing. She had wanted Sal to speak first. He was not prepared for what he heard.

We need to contact the zoo, because a monkey got loose. Penny glanced past Sal to catch her friends’ reactions.

Sal froze. No woman had ever responded to him like that. He coughed a bit on the smoke, but recovered quickly. Not a monkey, a great ape, like King Kong. I can take you to the top of the tallest buildings.

Good. That way, it’ll be a long fall down when I push you. She basked in the giggled adulations.

Sal was now going from smooth and in control to irked and irritated. He was the king, Mr. Lover. He had a reputation to protect. Hey babe, I only came over here because you were begging me.

The only begging I would do with you is to beg you to leave me alone. Score: Penny three, Chimp-boy zero.

Sal knew that he was outmatched. He knew that he had lost. He needed to save face so he came back with his strongest, most decisive put down that his ape brain could come up with. Screw you.

Penny’s repartees were already becoming famous in High Bridge and this one might have been her signature. I would screw your brains out, but it looks like someone already beat me to it. With that uppercut, Penny knew the match was over. Sal reeled like a punch drunk boxer who took one too many blows to the head. He tried to pick up what was left of his dignity and poorly attempted to strut back to the bar.

Her back now turned to Sal, she returned to laughing with her friends. Penny, what was that thing you said about screwing Sal?

I don’t know. I heard Jessica Metza tell some boy that once and everyone thought it was a riot.

Don’t be repeating anything that girl says. You know she is a tramp. She now has two children and no husband, and she is only a few years old than us.

Maria’s right Penny, I would not say anything that puttana says. But, it sure was fun seeing Sal slink away.

Out of the corner of her eye, Penny saw her brother Freddy observing. He held up his left hand flat, curled his right hand into a fist, and smacked his fist into his palm. Penny smiled and shook her head. She had won this fight with Sal and she knew she could handle him if he got physical. Freddy knew it too, but wanted to defend his sister’s honor.

It was no wonder that Penny was the favorite of Pop’s sister, Ginny. She was the family eccentric. She was also the family Magu, the witch of the family. It was said, back in the old country, that every family had a witch, who would touch joy into the lives of the kinfolk she favored and spit venom onto the souls of those she did not like. Aunt Ginny was born with the eye, the ear, and the touch. She claimed to see into the spirit world, hear the voices of the elders, and bring back talismans. Because of Aunt Ginny, Penny left the room whenever someone was sweeping the floor, lest the broom would brush over her feet and then she would never be swept off her feet by a man.

Only Ginny knew why, but she was fond of Penny from the time she was born. She spent more time with Penny than Pop’s other kids and she bestowed Penny with more gifts than the other kids. While the children were scared of Ginny or thought her to be a weirdo, Penny visited Ginny often and listened hard. They shared tea and Penny listened to the ancient stories from the old world. Stories of pixies and sprites that looked over families, and demons that ate souls. Ginny spoke of relatives past and prophesized on family to come. Ginny taught Penny customs and superstitions, about following the moon cycles to know the best time to plant crops, make wine, or copulate; how to use olive oil to reveal a malocchio, scents that could hide one’s spirit from demons; that 13 is the luckiest number and 17 is the unluckiest; a loaf of bread must always be placed face up, or else bad luck will come; and to never trim toe and finger nails on a Thursday.

On Penny’s eighteenth birthday, Aunt Ginny took Penny on an excursion to Manhattan. Because of the milestone, Pops let Penny keep her entire paycheck that week. After shopping at Gimbels, they window shopped at Saks 5th Avenue. While her paycheck allowed her to shop across all of Gimbels, it would barely have gotten her into the lobby of Saks.

A large brown Gimbels shopping bag on her arm, they headed to the New York Public Library to browse. Ginny could not read any of the books and Penny was not interested in reading any, but they still loved walking through the grand arches and up the intimidating stairwells. Staring at the ceiling in the rotunda was like being in a museum. Neither had ever seen the Sistine Chapel, but they each felt they could relate to the awe of looking up inside of it. Walking into the reading room, they gaped at the sky. Penny had to ask someone whether they were really seeing the clouds through the roof. The librarian scoffed a little when she told Penny that it was a celestial ceiling mural. Penny felt a little embarrassed and they departed the library for the real destination planned by Aunt Ginny.

Exiting the library, they descended the marble steps, passing by local workers enjoying a picnic lunch on the stairs, under the blazing August sun. A stray scent wafted through the air, catching Penny’s attention, Mmmm, frankfurters.

Aunt Ginny was perplexed. What did you say? Frank who?

Not a person named Frank, a food named frank. Frankfurters. Look, there’s a food cart. Penny licked her lips as she made a beeline for the source of the tantalizing aroma.

Aunt Ginny was still confused, but followed Penny’s lead, calling after her, What is the frankfurter?

It’s a delicious sausage sandwich, Aunt Ginny. You really have to try one. Penny did not slow down or even turn around to deliver this information. She was a woman on a mission.

At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden box, attached to large wagon wheels. An enormous umbrella announcing, ‘Red Hot Frankfurters Ice Cold Drinks,’ rose above the cart, casting shade to the tall, young man, who was standing between two long handles. Proudly displayed on the side of the cart was the name, ‘Murray’s Finest.’

A plain looking woman with two young children was ordering frankfurters. Penny anxiously stood behind her, as Aunt Ginny caught up.

My brother Tony bought me my first frankfurter last year when I went on the ice delivery with him. He traded a block of ice for two sandwiches and two orange Nehis. It was one of the most tasty things I ever ate. I can hardly afford them since Pop takes my earnings and gives me only a tiny allowance. But, Pop doesn’t know that Mr. Viglione sometimes gives me a bonus for extra work that I do around the shop. Penny quickly took out her change purse, worried she just gave away the State’s secret. That is just between you and me, right? Penny was so excited to see the frankfurter cart she was ready to spill all of her confidences.

Penny, your secret is safe with me. She proudly smiled and patted Penny’s upper arm. In fact, so is your money. We have lunch then on my treat.

The woman with the children offered a, Thank you Stephen, before she departed the stand.

He tipped the brown and green tartan flat cap after her, before turning his attention to his next customers. In a smooth, deep voice with a German accent, he queried, What can I get you ladies, on this fine afternoon?

Mister, we will have two of the frankfurter sandwiches.

Right up, Madam. You want them dressed?

Aunt Ginny was at a loss. Being an expert, Penny jumped in and said, Sauerkraut and mustard. And give us two colas, too.

Yes, Madam. The jovial man took out two long rolls, held them in his left hand, and grabbed a long fork with his right. Opening the lid to a metal box, steam rushed out as he fished the spear into the boiling water and pulled out a smooth, pink sausage. He placed it on the roll and pulled out another. Still balancing the two sandwiches on his left hand, he wiped a smear of brown mustard on the pink links and then plopped a dollop of sauerkraut on each. Proffering his plump creations to the ladies, he then dug out two bottles of R.C. Cola, popped the tops, and gave them to the eager customers. That’ll be twenty cents.

The aroma enticed Aunt Ginny. Even before paying for their lunch, she opened wide and took a bite. The crisp skin of the dog snapped, as her teeth cut off the end. Her eyebrows raised in delight, now that she had sampled her first frankfurter. The texture of the sharp sauerkraut, the snap of the skin, and the softness of the bun was a pleasurable combination to her mouth. The blend of tang, spice, and fatty meat was just divine.

The man smiled with pride. He knew he served the best frankfurters this side of the Rhine. Seeing the pleasure in a customer’s eyes the first time they tried one of his creations was priceless. Nevertheless, his hand was still outstretched with open palm because the creations did have a price; namely, five cents apiece, plus five cents per pop.

Momentarily placing the cola on the cart, she dug out four Indian head coins. With mustard above her upper lip and food still in her mouth, Aunt Ginny said, This is delicious. Thank you, before handing over the coinage and then retrieving her bottle as they walked away.

He tipped his cap at them as they departed, sending them off with a smile and whistling a happy tune.

The signores rested for the moment on a three-foot high granite wall alongside the library, enjoying their German lunch. Penny ripped into hers like a shark chowing down on a bloody seal. Aunt Ginny savored each bite of hers like it was her last meal on death row and her execution would begin as soon as she was done.

They washed down their treats with the sweet, cold cola. Again, Aunt Ginny was sampling a trendy delicacy for the first time. Prior to this long neck, the only soda she ever had was made when you used a soda siphon at home. The sun was climbing higher overhead and the last of the few clouds above were departing the Manhattan sky. Penny was relishing this most wonderful of birthdays.

With lunch done, Aunt Ginny insisted they continue on to Bryant Park. It was only a few steps to the 40th Street entrance, but several steps up the staircase to the raised park. Strolling under the rows of London Plane trees, and past the Goethe monument, the ladies cavorted under the warming sun. A summer wind blew through the trees, making their majestic branches sway like giant green guards welcoming Penny and Ginny into their kingdom.

The ladies danced a little to an unnamed Italian folksong being performed on a mandolin with a harmonica accompaniment. They were awestruck when they saw the song was being performed by one man with the guitar in his arms, harmonica wrapped around his neck, and a box under his feet in lieu of a drum. Stopping, they admired the music and clapped to the beat. Penny tossed a few pennies into the man’s upturned hat before moving along.

Finding a bench near the Josephine Shaw Lowell fountain, they rested for a while. It was not an accident that Ginny took Penny here, or that she chose this fountain for the conversation that was to follow. Ginny explained that Josephine was one of the most influential and socially important women in New York’s 19th century. She founded the New York Consumers’ League and this fountain was the first major monument dedicated to a woman in New York.

When I encouraged your parents to name you Josephine, it was in her honor. I knew you would have the same spirit as Josephine Lowell. She might not have been Italian, but she was a spitfire. Like you, she never went by her birth name, instead taking the name ‘Effie.’ And, like you, she was bold and brave.

Aunt Ginny, do you see me being special?

How can you ask that? You know you are special.

That’s not how I mean it. Will I be famous or rich? I wouldn’t mind having one of those Lincoln convertibles, maybe in yellow. Of course, I would have to have a driver since I don’t know how to operate one of them.

Penny, a car is just a show piece. It is a thing. Focus on what is important in life.

Maybe I could model some of the dresses that I make for Mr. Viglione. I’m not too hard on the eyes. Penny stood up and posed in an exaggerated manner, like Marlene Dietrich, with her hands framing her face and nose turned to the air. I could then become discovered and move to Hollywood, like Sylvia Sydney. You know, she was born in the Bronx, just like me.

Stop being silly Penny. You have a grand future. You will create something of big happiness.

Penny was seated again on the bench. She was liking what Aunt Ginny had to say. What will I make?

I do not see everything. I see only that you will create the most beautiful thing and it will last long after you are gone. But, it will not all be happy. There will be loss. Aunt Ginny turned away. She was not able to look into Penny’s face.

What is it Aunt Ginny?

I see a lot of loss, separation, loneliness.

That does not sound good. Why must I be sad?

"Y is a crooked letter. Have I teach you anything? You can do good and be happy even with bad. No life is all cherries. Even cherries have pits. Never forget to enjoy what is around you. Make the most of it and you will make the most of your life. Where you go, you must always be happy. No, that is not what I mean. You must be relaxed, um, essere in pace."

I understand. At that time, at eighteen years old, with her whole future ahead of her, Penny did not fully understand. It would take her an entire lifetime to understand and appreciate being content. Frivolities and dreams aside, Penny really cared about only one thing. Will I ever marry? Will I find my dreamboat?

On that bench, Aunt Ginny told Penny about a vision she had about her future husband. For this most important answer, Aunt Ginny reverted solely to Italian to relate the vision. "Molto lontano, un uomo da molto lontano, attraverserà l'acqua molte volte per te, scivolerai e ti innamorerai di lui. (This is too important for our non-Italian speaking readers to miss out: Long away, a man from far away, will cross water many times for you. You will slip and fall for him.")

This vision was vague at best, but it was crystal clear to Penny. This hazy tidbit was raised to absolute knowledge. She felt free. She felt assured. She no longer had to worry about the boys who cruised in and out of her, life like oatmeal in the morning. None of the boys she had met ever swept her off her feet. There was no longer any pressure for her to say yes to every one of these milquetoast invitations. She could enjoy working at Mr. Viglione’s, enjoy going out with her friends, and know that