The afternoons always felt quicker to Lucia than the mornings at school, and soon enough they were dismissed and the school day was over. They all grabbed their belongings, not waiting to put their jackets on before running out of the school building and playing around and racing one another through the sand-colored cobblestone paths of the town. The shadows created by the dimming sunlight created shadows against the eastern-facing buildings and narrowed the paths into thin strips as if the dying sunlight was counting down the minutes until the path was closed off. The kids didn’t bother to keep quiet as they had to all day at school, instead they let their voices ring out and echo throughout the town, letting the adults know exactly where they were and where they were going.
One or two children once in a while frayed off from the group of schoolchildren as they passed each family’s house. Goodbyes were said only by the children who had reached their front steps, the other children too busy still playing to bother with responses. Carlotta waved goodbye to Lucia and Clarice; she usually went over to the Pellegrini’s house after school to play, but since her mother had become sicker, she decided to go straight home so that she could spend time with her family and help out with the household work. Lucia had often asked her own Ma if she could go over and help some days, but Ma said she would only get in the way. Best let the family live in peace, Ma always reminded her after each of her suggestions to help. Lucia accepted that Ma knew best and that they would help when and where they could. Sometimes Lucy wanted to do more for Carlotta, but she didn’t know what could possibly help.
So she waved goodbye for today and hoped that Carlotta would bring her doll to school again. She ran to catch up to Clarice so Ma didn’t think she was dilly dallying to avoid her afternoon chores.
Clarice and Lucia were expected to come home and help Papa with the afternoon chores in the barn. He always did the morning and night chores by himself, but the girls enjoyed spending their afternoons with him and the family’s horse, pig, and dog. Their barn wasn’t large and it was just right across the street from their house. Papa took out the horse to roam around during the day while he worked in the fields, but otherwise, the animals lived in town just like most of their neighbors’ animals. Their animals didn’t have names, though Lucia’s sisters sometimes called them “Honey,” “Baby,” or “Sweetie.” Ma made sure they knew that the dog lived in the barn and was to never come into the house. Obviously to the girls, the horse was too big to fit through the front door and the pig was too fat to walk up the steps, but Lucia knew that her sisters secretly wished they could bring the dog in the house and play with him on the living room floor. He wasn’t too big and they kept him clean, but still, Ma was adamant, and the girls knew better than to suggest it anymore. So they had fun with him in the barn after school, and rolling around in the hay, letting him lick their faces and jump on them.
Lucia was a bit scared of dogs and never liked playing with them, not even her family’s dog. She was secretly glad that Ma didn’t let him in the house, though she never admitted that to her sisters. They all loved him and named him Gio, but Lucia never called him that. She didn’t understand how her sisters enjoyed playing with animals. Every child in San Donato seemed to love animals, except for Lucia. Especially dogs. She didn’t like having his slobber all over her clothes. She didn’t like his smell and she was afraid of his bite. He loved her, but he was slowly learning to let her be. Having three other girls to play with, particularly Clarice who adored him, the dog and Lucia were able to mostly avoid one another.
Lucia quickly finished her chores, waited for Papa to inspect her work, ignored the dog’s licks and pushes, and ran back to the house once Papa nodded with approval. She bolted through the barn door, closing it as quickly as she could so as not to allow the dog to follow her, and didn’t stop running until she made it into the kitchen, glad to be back in the neat and clean house.
“Lucia, go upstairs and clean yourself up,” Ma instructed her without turning around or pausing her work to prepare supper. Lucia continued upstairs, following the routine of a regular afternoon, changed into her house dress, washed her face and hands, and brushed her hair back into a tidy single braid. As she finished cleaning up to help Ma, her sisters were just coming back from finishing their chores, and they, too, followed Ma’s instructions that weren’t needed to be said aloud.
Lucia went back downstairs and began to help Ma with supper, enjoying the routine of making their typical Tuesday night supper: a simple roasted chicken with salad. She washed the lettuce, tomatoes, and half a cucumber, dried them off with a clean kitchen rag and placing them in the strainer, waiting for Ma to cut them.
Ma handed Lucia her own small knife while Ma took a hold of the larger one. Both of them started cutting the vegetables, chopping them up on the wooden board and sifting them into the wooden bowl on the side of the counter. Ma had years of experience chopping, so much so that the knife seemed simply an extension of her hand, while Lucia’s own knife awkwardly sat in her palm, her grip unsteady, and her movement lacking flow and ease. She tried her best to copy Ma, but she couldn’t quite reach the speed at which Ma cut. Ma didn’t mind Lucia’s pace, and rather liked that her daughters joined her in preparation for their meals. It was important for them to know how to cook, but it was a special time that Ma could spend with them, too. She enjoyed sharing her knowledge with them because she remembered learning how to cook with her own Ma. Especially in the midst of these unsettled days, cooking was an escape for them all - the smells of the sauces, meats, and vegetables surrounding them, as if creating a barrier between them and the outside world.
Tonight, the roasted chicken had been in the oven for a few hours already, but the scent of the gravy still lingered as the girls finished setting the table and cleaning up the scraps and edges of lettuce and vegetables. Ma took out her jugs of olive oil and vinegar and began dressing the salad. Lucia watched her pour in the olive oil followed by the vinegar; the yellow and deep red mixing into one another, creating a purple that fell through the lettuce as if it was water falling over the rocks of a cliff. Ma somehow knew what the exact amount of both the olive oil and vinegar was and every time she made the salad, it was perfectly dressed; the salad was never too dry and it was never too much. Ma took a piece of the lettuce and plopped in her mouth to taste her new mixture, ensuring it was just right. Lucia slipped her own piece out of the bowl and copied Ma. The sour taste of the vinegar hit her tongue first but the sweetness of the olive oil quickly followed - a lovely balance of salty and sweet. Lucia loved Ma’s dressing, and even though it was quite a simple combination of ingredients, it always tasted like perfection.
Ma handed Lucia the salad tongs to mix it all up, and Lucia happily took a hold of them. She had to stand on a chair in front of the counter so that the tongs were not over her head as she mixed in the dressing. She let the memorized movements flow from her head to her arms as the lettuce danced through the air and fell into a new part of the bowl. The top layer of tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions was broken up by the green lettuce, creating a colorful display of fresh vegetables.
“Lucia, carefully carry it to the table,” Ma said. She had timed her tasks perfectly, for just as Lucia placed the salad on the table, Ma’s little handheld timer went off: the chicken was done.
Ma took her washcloth and in a singular motion opened the oven door, took the chicken out, and placed it in the middle of the table on top of the thick round knitted mat that Ma made specifically for placing hot dishes onto. Donata and Nella hurried to pour water for each of the girls and wine for their parents. Papa came inside, washed his hands, and sat down just as Ma finished cutting the chicken. She took each of their plates, starting with Papa’s and finishing with her own, placed two pieces of chicken on each. She passed each place to Donata who then scooped salad next to the chicken; she gave a hearty spoonful of salad that piled itself on top of the chicken.
Lucia finally received her plate, being the youngest child, and subconsciously picked up her fork, ready to take her first bite. Papa cleared his throat and without making eye contact, Lucia snapped out of her fog and quickly placed her fork back in its original place. She then clasped her hands tightly intertwining her fingers, preparing herself for grace.
Papa said his typical suppertime prayer, with the girls’ stomachs growling as if they were background music accompanying the words. Papa lengthened out the prayer by slowing down the pace of his words, seemingly teasing the girls’ hungry bellies, but at last he wrapped up with an “Amen” and nodded permission for them to reach for their forks. The girls ate in silence, quickly cutting their chicken and alternating between bites of salad. Lucy ate quickly to get to dessert faster. She had a sweet tooth and could never say no to dessert. Ma only let them have dessert a couple nights each week and the war seemed to cause those nights to dwindle. Lucy had seen the fresh ricotta pie that Ma must’ve made while they were at school on the counter under a kitchen towel. She peeked when she was sure Ma wasn’t looking and her mouth had been watering since. She sat at the table with her hands under her legs and her eyes glued to the counter waiting impatiently for everyone else to finish eating. Ma seemed to eat as slow as she possibly could. Papa even began fidgeting at the table. They all sat watching her dip her bread into the left over salad dressing. She either ignored them or didn’t realize they were all waiting on her.
Finally, she put her napkin on the table and sat back. Lucia and her sisters leaned forward and glued their eyes even harder on the pie.
“What are you looking at?” Ma asked.
“The pie, Ma!” Lucy nearly jumped up from her seat.
“What pie?” Ma exclaimed in feigned surprise.
“Ma!” “Loreta!” They all whined her name and pointed towards the counter and towel with a hill in the middle of it.
“Mhmm, I don’t think that’s a pie. I didn’t make anything,” Ma said with a smirk as she got up from the table and stood in front of the counter, hiding the towel from view. When she turned around, she did have a pie in her hands. She walked it to the table and placed it in front of Lucia.
“I’ll grab the plates!” Lucia yelled.
“I’ll get the forks!” Clarice followed her. They made a clatter in the corner of the room reaching for everything they needed. They came back with a pile of too many plates and not enough forks. They went back still in a rush to recount and get the correct amount. Ma waited with the knife in her hand, having already sliced up six small pieces. She doled them out and everyone eagerly ate the delicious fresh pie still warm from the oven. Lucia loved Ma’s ricotta pie. It was sweet and had a hint of orange that Lucia could taste in the hard shell and soft middle. She tried her best to take her time and let the pie last, but she couldn’t help herself. She finished her piece before everyone did. She wouldn’t dare ask Ma for a second piece. Even without the limitations of the war caused, Ma would always give small desserts in order to let it last longer and teach her daughters how to enjoy what’s in front of them. But in this moment, Lucia had nothing left in front of herself and she wished for more.
She glanced at Papa who winked at her, looked quickly towards Ma, and passed a forkful of his own pie onto her plate. She gave him a large smile and took two bites to finish up this extra special taste. She let the middle of the pie linger on her tongue so that the orange zest stuck to it even after she sipped her water.
“Loreta, this was delicious.” Papa broke through the clattering forks, and Ma smiled in response. “Ragazzi, what do you say?”
“Thank you, Ma!” They all musically responded.
“Prego. Now, Lucia, since you were done first, clean up all the plates,” Ma said.
“Yes, Ma.” Lucia gathered the six plates in her arms and piled the forks on top. Ma joined her at the counter and they started washing all the dishes together. Donata, Nella, and Clarice joined them bustling throughout the room completing their typical after supper tasks. They all had their own jobs and knew what to do without Ma telling them. Papa sat in his chair in the corner, somehow successfully blocking out their chatter and noise while he read through some more of the newspaper that the town was passing around in small chunks. He didn’t bother reading anything out loud to the girls, and tonight Lucia didn’t mind that he kept what must be only bad news to himself. Ma kept moving around the room putting things away and ordering the girls about. Slowly, each task was checked off and the girls could sit. They sat on the couch and floor, knitting, crocheting, or just resting. Lucia was practicing her sewing on old scraps Ma gave her. She sat herself down where the moonlight lit up the floor so she could see the different types of stitches as she sewed. They all chatted while completing their small tasks but slowly quieted down as the night continued on. The quiet evenings when the Pellegrinis could block out the rest of the world was Lucia’s favorite part of the day. If she could just stay here forever, and have nothing interrupt her little town, Lucia thought, she couldn’t be any more content.
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