Francesca's Kitchen. Peter Pezzelli
just wanted to see how you’re doing. I talked to Alice yesterday. Told her about your trip. Heard you guys might get a bunch of snow up there today, so I hope you get home soon before it starts. Call me.”
A succession of beeps without messages followed, then: “Hello. This is the West End Public Library calling to let you know that some books you reserved have come in. We’ll hold them here for a week. Thank you.”
Francesca hurriedly put the groceries away and picked up the telephone to call Alice in Oregon. She was a little concerned because, given the time difference, her daughter ought to have been at work. Was something wrong, something she hadn’t mentioned in her message? Francesca was always trying to read between the lines in this way, wondering how much her children didn’t tell her about what was going on in their lives. It troubled her deeply. True, her children were all adults now. But even though they were all grown up, they still had a lot they could learn from their mother. There were still lots of ways she knew she could help them if they would only let her. Francesca knew that Rosie and Alice did their utmost to withhold from her anything that they thought might make her worry. But that only made her worry all the more! In her mind, it would be better to know the truth and play a part in dealing with it.
As was most often the case, though, there was nothing for Francesca to worry about. Alice had stayed out of work that day simply because her son Will had a case of the sniffles. Francesca was relieved. Just the same, she lectured Alice on making sure that her son got plenty of rest and drank enough fluids. A nice bowl of chicken-and-escarole soup would probably do wonders. She gave her daughter the recipe. For her part, Alice lectured her mother on the dangers of the ice and snow sure to accompany the storm the weathermen were predicting. Rosie did the same when Francesca called her a little while later. Francesca assured both of them that they needn’t worry; she wasn’t about to be taking any chances with the weather. It gave her a modicum of satisfaction to know that now they were worrying about her. What goes around always comes around.
When she was finished talking to Rosie, Francesca hung up the phone, erased the messages on the answering machine, and paused to look out the back window. The kitchen was her favorite room in the house, not so much because of her love of cooking, but because of the beautiful view it afforded of the city. When the leaves were off the trees, like they were at this time of year, you could look out across the backyard and see all the way downtown, to the dome of the State House, and beyond, to the houses up on the East Side. Turning over in her mind the third message on the answering machine, she stared thoughtfully at the drab shroud of gray clouds that had covered the sky over the city since her return from Florida. The snowflakes, she noticed, were coming down now with greater urgency, in a light but steady flurry. Deep within herself, part of Francesca was urging her to just stay inside, to curl up on the couch and take a nap. Another part of her, though, longed to be out of the house once more despite her daughters’ advice to just stay put. She fretted about it for only a minute before deciding to pull her overcoat and hat back on.
“This is New England,” she told herself while she fished the car keys out of her pocketbook. “It’s supposed to snow in the winter.”
CHAPTER 5
The librarian was gazing out the window at the thickening snowfall when Francesca walked in. A small, handwritten sign on the young woman’s desk announced that, due to the approaching storm, the weekly book club meeting had been cancelled for that afternoon. Francesca was not particularly disappointed by the announcement; she hadn’t planned to attend the gathering. Still, she could not suppress a sigh of consternation at the thought of it. The library, she guessed, would be closing early as well. The coat and pocketbook resting to the librarian’s side confirmed her suspicions.
“Hello, Rebecca,” said Francesca.
The young librarian turned to Francesca with fretful eyes. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Campanile,” she said, taking nervous note of the snowflakes on the shoulders of Francesca’s coat and hat. “It looks like it’s really starting to come down out there. Are the roads getting bad?”
“Treacherous,” Francesca fibbed. “My car barely made it up the hill to get here.”
Rebecca cast an anxious glance at the clock on the wall. “We’re closing in a half hour—at two—today,” she advised her. Then, worriedly, “Is it really that bad out?”
The mischievous side of Francesca wanted to string the girl along a little further, but she thought better of it. “No, honey,” she answered with a smile. “I was just having a little fun with you. Trust me, if an old lady like me can drive through this weather, so can you. You’re too young to be so worried about a few flakes of snow.”
“Ugh,” the young woman sighed. “I hate driving in the snow.”
Francesca set a cloth bag atop the desk. It was one of many she kept at home, in the closet by the front door. She had a sturdy bag ready for every occasion; this one she used to tote her books to and from the library. “I understand you have some new books for me,” she said, nodding to the bookshelf behind Rebecca.
Rebecca found the three items reserved for Francesca—two books and a set of Vietnamese language tapes—and placed them on the desktop next to her computer. She opened the cover of the first book and passed a handheld scanner over the bar code on the inside of the front cover. “Hmm, what are you studying this time?” she said, looking over the book’s cover with curiosity. “Perspectives on Vietnamese Culture,” she read. “Sounds interesting. Plus a Fodor’s guide to traveling in Vietnam,” she noted as she scanned the next book and then the language tapes. “Looks like someone is getting ready to take a trip to Southeast Asia.”
“Just in my mind,” chuckled Francesca. “Flying to Florida was far enough for me. I just like to study new things now and then, especially during the winter. It passes the time and keeps my brain from drying up inside my head.”
It was true. Francesca sometimes enjoyed watching television to pass the long, lonely nights at home, but more often than not, she preferred to put her mind to a more active use. She never quite understood why, but there was something about learning new things that gave her a warm feeling inside and always made her feel better about herself, especially whenever she was feeling a little down. For Francesca, to learn something new was to become a child again. Whether it was dabbling with a foreign language, or delving into ancient history, or struggling to understand the basic principles of physics, there seemed to be nothing that didn’t pique her curiosity. When she tired of one subject, she simply moved on to the next. Her son, Joey, had often suggested that she might enjoy taking some night courses at one of the local colleges, perhaps work toward a degree in some field of study that she found interesting. Francesca, though, had always decided against it. Why should she pay all that money to take a course when she could learn everything she could ever want to learn for free right there at the local library?
“Well, learning to speak Vietnamese should keep you busy for a while,” said Rebecca, handing her the books and the tapes.
“We’ll see,” said Francesca, tucking everything into her bag. “Not that I ever expect to use the language. It’s just fun to know a little about these things sometimes.”
“Hey, you never know,” said Rebecca. “There are lots of Vietnamese people living in this part of the city now. Maybe you’ll make some new friends.”
“Maybe,” said Francesca with a laugh. “I suppose there might be some old Vietnamese ladies around for me to talk to.”
“Or maybe a Vietnamese man,” said Rebecca playfully. “It won’t be long before it’s Valentine’s Day, you know.”
“Oh, please,” laughed Francesca. “That’s all I need right now.” She turned and nodded to the clock. “So I guess you’ll be chasing everyone out in a few minutes, right?”
“Sorry,” shrugged Rebecca, looking only slightly sincere.
“Okay,” sighed Francesca. She had collected her things and was just starting to go when someone called to her from the back of the library.
“Frannie,