She herself had girth; she rounded and billowed beneath her full skirts despite the hard work. She wore no corsets as the other Italian women did, but let herself flow in generous waves of flesh. Two more children, her daughters Pina and Anna, were born in the early years of the store. Her face was still full and round-cheeked and her skin still had the fairness of the people from the Sila. Her cheeks and chin always had a pink tinge to them, and on feast days she dabbed the juice of pomegranate seeds onto her lips to make them redder. Her dark nature turned jovial as the years became good; bitterness drained from her as the visible proof of success accumulated in savings and she laughed heartily, shaking all over while her chin flushed an even deeper pink. She wore her still-dark hair in a pompadour held up with tortoise shell pins and combs, though strands of it kept straggling down so that she was always pushing it back.

Umbertina now gave orders and directed the family. As both family and grocery store grew, Serafino gave up his job at the railroad for seasonal laboring so as to be able to help more at the store when needed. Serafino let his wife take charge—somewhat because he was an easygoing fellow, somewhat because she would have done what she wanted anyway. She was younger; she still had the energy and confidence that he had long ago expended on the railroads. Besides, she was more intelligent than he; he had always said so.

Serafino did odd jobs at the store. He’d go down to the farmers’ market with the horse and wagon and get provisions or down to the warehouses near the station and buy sacks of flour and sugar and coffee beans and other staples the Longobardi store now stocked. In the winter he would sit inside the store roasting chestnuts in the potbellied stove, on top of which he’d throw a long slice of orange peel to release the aroma of its oils into the air. Or he’d crush cardamom seeds on the hot surface, releasing their spicy fragrance like a waft of the exotic East, and talk with his customers and friends. In good weather he roasted peanuts outside the store on the sidewalk, greeting people and sometimes letting them take a turn on the handle of the roaster. No sooner were the peanuts done than they were sold out and a new batch started. Work always seemed rewarded—it never failed to amaze Umbertina.

The salesmen of olive oil and cheese, who represented importing companies from New York, stopped at the store, and soon Umbertina expanded into imports. She carried pastas of all shapes and sizes in glass-fronted drawers, and genuine semolina flour for those who still made pasta at home.