Harry slumped down against the trunk of a beech tree. His buried his head in his hands and murmured, "God, what's happening? This wasn't the plan! They should be happy to see me. At least, she could have opened the door. I wonder if she's my grandmother. "Damn it, St. John Bosco, you're supposed to help. Why don't you help?"

"Demetrio! Demetrio!" A breathy voice pierced his despair.

Harry raised his head. A girl, her dark hair flying, ran toward him. She wore a long brown skirt and a red, peasant blouse. Her heart shaped face was flushed, her lips pressed in an anxious smile.

"Wait," she said, catching her breath, as she stopped in front of him.

"Wadda you want?" Harry said.

"I'm Angela Fortuna, a cousin of the Trumfio family. I was with the cows when you came in. I watched you and heard what happened."

"You're my cousin?"

Without thinking, he hugged her. She pulled away.

"Oh, sorry, forgive me. My mother said I had Fortuna cousins in Italy. I'm Demetrio Trumfio from America, I came here to meet my grandfather, but the old lady won't let me in."

Angela carefully studied him. His pitch-black hair and a slight olive complexion attested to his Mediterranean ancestry. Harry's face flushed, sweat beads popped on his upper lip as her eyes roved over him.

He thought, "She has to notice that I have the Trumfio nose and steel blue eyes. My ma said that my father and me are the only ones in the family that have blue eyes."

"Yes," Angela said, "you look like Uncle Dominico. Same black hair and blue eyes. He was the only one in the family with blue eyes."

Still not convinced, however, she ventured, "What's your mother's name?"

"She's called Maggie in Chicago, but her real name is Dominica, Dominica Porcina."

"What's Uncle Dominco's brother's name?"

"Francesco."

"Yes, that's right."

"Why did Uncle Dominico leave Italy?"

"My pa was in the army, but when his time was up, they told him he would have to stay and serve his brother's time. Uncle Francesco didn't do his time because he went to America. Papa hated the army; he didn't want to serve another two years so he ran away to America."

"Yes, my mother told me my uncles went to America because of the army."

"You believe me, Angela?"

"Yes, yes, I do."

"Why won't the old lady let me in?"

"It's a bad time. They arrest people for hiding spies. Everyone lives in fear."

"But, I'm no spy!"

"You don't have a pass from the police. You don't have a passport. To Maria that makes you a spy against Mussolini."

Harry paced, and then asked, "You lived here all your life, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you know my grandfather?"

Angela's face soured. "I know of him. Come, sit."

Angela walked to the shade of a large beech tree, sat down and folded her legs under her. Harry joined her.

"The Trumfios never talk about this." Angela reached up, pulled a leaf from a low hanging branch, and rolled it between her fingers. "They tried to keep it a secret."
She looked at Harry, sadness written on her face. She turned away.

He touched her shoulder."Tell me, please."

Angela dropped the leaf and gazed over his shoulder toward a stand of chestnut trees. "Well, if you're really Dominico's son, your grandmother was Carmela, not Maria Moribito. Tears formed in Angela's eyes. "You see, Grandma Maria is really your great-grandmother. Carmela was your father's mother."

"What! Who's Carmela? Never heard of her."

"I know this is hard," a tear rolled down Angela's cheek. She licked her lips and continued, "Everyone thinks Carmella brought shame to the family, but it wasn't her fault."

"Wadda you mean shame? Who's Carmela anyway?"

Angela took Harry's hands and whispered, "Look, it's complicated," she said, pulling a handkerchief from her apron and wiping her tears. "It's getting late; come home with me. I'll ask my mother to tell you the whole story."

Dumbfounded, Harry stared at her and said nothing.

She took Harry's hand. "Come," she said.
***