Carmine had pointed out that the boys had Americanized their names—Francesco had become Frank, Ezio called himself Ed, Nico was Nick, Paolo was Paulie; only Carmine Jr. had stuck by the name given to him at birth. It was her husband's opinion that Mifalda was making a mountain out of a molehill—a particularly American expression that Mifalda hated. Carmine was too soft with their daughter, partly because she was a girl and the baby of the family, and partly because he was getting old. Carmine was in his fifties now and he didn't have the energy to discipline the girl. That fell more and more to Mifalda. And Lucia—all right, call her Lu if that was what she wanted—needed discipline. She was, after all, her mother's daughter.

“O res mirabilis! Manducat Dominum,” Lu sang as she put down her books and checked the refrigerator for a snack. “Pauper, pauper, serous et humilis.” Her pure, sweet voice rose to the high notes with the ease of someone flying. Like a skater skimming across the ice, graceful and free …

“Lu, we're going down to the cellar to hang the sheets; come help,” Mifalda called out. The singing stopped. Lu stuck her head into the laundry room. She was bursting with excitement, Mifalda could see. But Lu always waited to tell you something until the right moment—when she had your undivided attention.

“I can't, Mama,” she said. “I just came home for half an hour.” She paused, then walked away, saying much too casually, “Then I have to go back to school and start rehearsing.”

That brought Mifalda out of the laundry room. “Rehearse for what?” she demanded.

Lu turned, and, Madonna, how the child's face could light up when she was happy! “I'm going to sing a solo for the crowning of the Blessed Mother!” she announced dramatically.

The crowning of Mary was an important event at the parochial school Mifalda's children attended. The school was attached to St. Mary's Church, and every year in May—Mary's month—the parish held a celebration in which a statue of the Virgin was crowned with a wreath of flowers. There were readings from the saints, usually done by someone very important in the parish, a blessing was given by a delegate of the bishop, the children of St. Mary's School marched in a procession to the statue, and then there was music. In the past professionals had been hired to sing, but if Lu was to be believed, this year was different.

“Miss Gaspari says our school choir at St. Mary's is as good as any of the children's choirs in Italy,” Lu was gushing happily. “She should know—she's been there, and she's heard them!”

Gaspari was a familiar name. Mifalda knew she'd heard it before, but she couldn't place it.

“Miss Gaspari says this year we children are going to sing all the music for the coronation,” Lu continued.