UNTIL TODAY, JOSEPHINE’S days had been her own to do whatever she wished. There were always chores: water to haul from the well in the center of the village, clothes to wash and hang along string hung from tree branches to dry, bread to bake, pasta to roll out and shape, vegetables and fruits to cook or can or bottle or set in the sun to dry; there was always something to sweep, or candle wax to scrape off the shrines in the church, or helping the nuns with their flock of sheep. But even with all of these things to get done every day, Josephine still had time to wander the hills outside the village, to pick wildflowers there, or wade barefoot in the stream. “She’s too dreamy,” people told her mother. “She has her head in the clouds.” But her parents indulged her, buying her paper and colored pencils so she could make pictures and even letting the nuns teach her to read.
But standing here in the too-tight lace dress—“Hold your breath!” her mother had ordered, so that she could button all the tiny pearl buttons that ran up the back—with the silk stockings held up by garters that dug into her thighs and the shoes a size too small, Josephine realized that if she let it, this marriage would ruin her life. She would no longer be able to draw with her colored pencils if her husband decided he wanted to have his way with her. She would no longer be able to walk in the cool stream, letting the hems of her skirts get wet and muddy. She would live far away in America.
This last thought made her throat tighten. Below her, she heard voices, loud and celebratory, shouts of “Salute!” and the clinking of glasses. She smelled pork roasting, onions frying, sweet things baking.
Josephine sat stiffly on her bed and unbuttoned the shoes. In her tight dress, it was hard to move, so it took her a long time, grunting and sweating to finally get the shoes off. Then she unfastened the garters and slid the silk stockings down her legs. She had climbed out her bedroom window many times, but it was difficult in her wedding dress. As she wiggled outside, she heard a seam split, and smiled. When she lowered herself to the ground, she glimpsed all the people who had gathered for the wedding. They were inside and outside; they were familiar and they were strangers.
Josephine took off at a gallop, splitting another seam as she ran out through the fence that marked the land they farmed and into the field behind the houses. The grass felt cool and damp on her feet. She ran until she no longer heard the sounds of the wedding party. She ran until she reached the stream, where the nuns’ sheep drank and chewed. Josephine opened her arms wide and ran as fast as she could into the water. She didn’t bother to lift her hem. She slipped on some wet stones and splattered mud on the white lace and her face. She stayed in the water until her mind calmed. Then, barefoot and muddy and wet, she went to meet her husband.
HIS FAMILY FROWNED at her and the people from the village whispered when the bride showed up late and dirty and dripping. But Josephine didn’t care. She took the veil resting on a table and placed it over her face, clutched the wildflowers she had stopped to pick on her way back, and walked through the crowd.
Her eyes moved past the priest to the short man waiting beside him. The man was grinning at her. Josephine wished her mother had not told her about dogs, because she had thought of Jacko, and this man who was about to become her husband resembled Jacko. He was short and barrel-chested, with a slightly pushed-in face and unruly brown hair. She made the sign of the cross because she needed all the help she could get, then took her place on the other side of the priest.
It was over so quickly that Josephine hardly had time to think. The priest said words, everyone said prayers, he made Vincenzo repeat something after him, and they were done. Married, just like that. Vincenzo lifted her veil and with his fat thumb wiped a smear of mud from her cheek before he kissed her right on the mouth with his cold, rubbery lips. Everyone cheered wildly as they watched him claim her. Josephine tried not to gag or to cry. When Vincenzo took her hand and held it triumphantly in the air, the crowd cheered again. This time, she couldn’t hold back the tears, and as they turned to face everyone, she saw the women nodding at her sympathetically.
For the rest of the day, they ate and drank and danced. When the sun set, they lit candles and ate more and drank more. The music grew louder, the dancing more frenetic. She danced with her girlfriends, and sneaked ladlefuls of wine. Although she didn’t like the taste very much, she liked how it made her lightheaded. She was someone who was prone to drinking too much of it. Josephine, full and sleepy, had almost forgotten they were all celebrating her wedding when she felt a hand on her elbow.
“Josephine,” her husband said to her, and her girlfriends moved away shyly.