Sicily, March 1870
One morning, her eyes still full of sleep, Serafina gazed out her bedroom window and glimpsed in the distance a steamer with its sails unfurled—so small, it seemed a speck of dust upon the glass. Was it bound for Rio de Janeiro or Sao Paulo, New York or New Orleans?
These days, the ship would carry passengers from Oltramari, countrymen and women she knew only as familiar faces passing in the piazza.
“I’ll never see them again!” she whispered to the drapes.
“You’ll never realize they’ve gone,” she heard the ghost of Giorgio murmur.
And for a moment she felt a tremor in the earth. Will her children be on such a ship someday? Will they, too, journey to cities with exotic names? Go to treacherous lands without her? She closed the shutters and waited for her breathing to slow.
Photo: Noto. Credit: gnuckx (Flickr), Creative Commons.