Seeking Carolina Read Online Free Page B

was the choice she always insisted it was.
    Gio, the youngest nephew, pestered Henry and Tony, while Ian, the oldest, seemed to share a special bond with his Aunt Julietta. Most of her evening was spent helping the ten-year-old with his math homework. In the thick of it all, Johanna had felt as full of love as she had been of the food.
    No one misses the funeral of a Sig’lian’. We make mean ghosts.
    Gram always said Italians loved a funeral; it brought family home, and brooked no excuse.
    In the dark silence beyond midnight, listening to her belly gurgle along with the creaks and groans of the old farmhouse she grew up in, Johanna was wishing she’d taken her chances with the ghost. The sensation of being only a guest in her sister’s home, in her sisters’ lives descended. Being in Bitterly forced her to acknowledge all the good things she was missing to avoid the bad. Until coming home, she’d been happy in Cape May, in her bakery at the beach, with the hundreds of friendly strangers who populated her life.
    Johanna groaned upright, and moved to the window. Outside, the moon shined brightly on the snow and the world existed only in shades of blue. Snow, snow, everywhere—snow. A cathedral of trees. A holy realm of ice. The only church she had ever needed.
    She used to imagine her mother playing in the yard, building snow castles or chasing fireflies. But Mommy had never lived in Bitterly, a fact Johanna didn’t know until Emmaline and Julietta came to live with them too.
    Johanna turned away from the window, those thoughts. She moved about Gram’s room by moonlight. It never changed, but for the buttercream yellow paint that had replaced Gram’s more sensible white back when she and her sisters were small, and grieving. The dresser, oiled and smooth as honey, always scented with the lavender sachets kept in every drawer. Johanna opened the top one and breathed in, struck suddenly by the notion of getting rid of all the clothes. Who would have the heart to scoop the nightgowns from the drawers, the dresses from the closet, and haul them off to some charity? Johanna shuddered. She could not do it. She would rather burn everything, and that made her shudder again.
    On top of the dresser sat Gram’s jewelry box. Adelina Coco was Sicilian, but she was also a New Englander. One good dress and a pair of sensible heels was all she needed. The plain box Poppy had made for her one Christmas, when they were newly married and quite poor, was mostly empty. Johanna lifted the lid.
    The ribboned lock of Carolina’s dark hair.
    The crumbling letter Johanna knew by heart.
    The gold Virgin Mary medal Gram never took off, along with her wedding rings and Pop’s.
    And the locket.
    Johanna’s breath caught in her throat. She had forgotten about this talisman, this magical thing. Picking it up by the chain, she let it twirl in the moonlight.
    “It belonged first to Poppy’s grandmother,” Gram had told her. “Her own nona gave it to her when she left Sicily for America to be married. See the initials? FMC. That is for Florentina Coco.”
    “What does the M stand for?”
    “Maddelena, I think. Do you want to hear the story or ask questions?”
    “Hear the story. Please.”
    “Good girl. Back then, when someone left the old country, those left behind knew it was for good. Florentina’s grandmother had already lost many sons and many grandchildren to America. But Florentina was her favorite, I am told, and so she put something very special inside the locket before waving good-bye. Can you guess what it was?”
    “A picture?”
    “No, not a picture. She put a wish inside.”
    “Sure, Gram.”
    “You don’t believe me? You doubt it can be true? There was a time, Johanna, when we women still had our magic. It was a simple matter of course, and nothing at all extraordinary. That old woman put a wish into this locket as certainly as I am standing here telling you this tale. The locket has passed from daughter-in-law to