“You"re leaving,” said Arabella. It was a question but sounded more like a certainty.
“Yes,” replied Carlo, “to St. Louis.”
“What"s the name of your saint, the church you attend in St. Louis?”
“Saint Ambrose.”
“Well,” Arabella said with some resolve, fighting back the tears. “I will pray to Sant" Ambrose to keep you well.”
She tried to stay resolute, but couldn"t help adding, “and that he might bring you back to me one day.”
They looked at each other with both love and sympathy. Carlo knew that he would not be returning, at least not to live there. Altamura was a wonderful town and he had come to know more about his Italianism in this village, including the vast difference between being an Italian and being an Italian-American. But that epiphany was telling him to go home, to be with
