Stella Mia Read Free

over the white slip. There is no doubt this white skirt or slip is meant to be worn underneath the red skirt.
    I take out the next package, which contains a yellowing white blouse. It looks almost like a peasant blouse, but its sleeves are very unusual. There is an opening to insert one’s arms, but then sewn over the sleeves is a sheer organza fabric that hangs quite loosely and dangles dramatically down to mid-thigh level. I’m reminded of a show Kyle and I went to see at Lincoln Center with Chinese dancers who wore costumes that had similar sleeves that they used, almost like fans, while they performed. The sleeves’ edges are trimmed with beautiful lace. The blouse’s neckline is also very striking with pleats that run from the shoulders to the bodice. In the neckline’s center, the fabric is gathered to create ruffles. It reminds me of the style I’ve seen in recent years of wedding dresses that sport a crumb-catcher neckline.
    I suddenly realize these clothes look very much like those on the Sicilian folk doll I’ve had since I was a little girl. I open another bundle to find a chocolate-brown velvet vest with wide gold plackets sewn down the middle and an ornate gold belt. It matches the design on the vest’s plackets. A headscarf falls out. Its fabric is the same as that of the red overlay skirt. Yes! It is definitely a Sicilian folk costume. Could it have belonged to my mother?
    I continue rummaging through the remaining items in the trunk. A pale blue wool coat with a faux fur–trim collar and cuffs is still wrapped in a dry cleaning bag. Several leather purses that look like they are from the seventies are covered in plastic slipcases. One is an ivory-colored clutch. I decide to take it since clutches are in style again right now. There are more women’s clothes, which no doubt belonged to my mother. Upon closer inspection, I notice most of the outfits are winter clothes. I also find a few pairs of women’s shoes in a black garbage bag.
    Finally, I reach the bottom of the trunk and see a glossy-covered pale blue notebook. The word “canzoni” is written in red marker on the cover. I remember from my Italian lessons that canzoni means songs. Opening the notebook’s cover, I’m stunned to see the name “Sarina Amato”—my mother’s name—scrawled on the first page. Seeing her handwriting sends shivers down my spine. As I flip through the notebook, I see the words to songs, written in the same handwriting as my mother’s name, on the first page. She must’ve written all of these songs. My mother loved to sing? Though I remember the one song she always sang to me, I had no idea that she had such a passion for singing as this book no doubt proves. The thought that my own talent for singing could have been passed down to me from my mother never entered my mind. I then remember a conversation I was having with Daddy and Kyle the other night over dinner. We were talking about my singing at the local churches when Daddy said my voice reminded him of Connie Francis’s. But he paused for a moment before he added Connie Francis. Did he catch himself before saying my voice reminded him of my mother’s? But why would he keep her love of singing a secret from me?
    The trunk is now empty, and I still haven’t found Daddy’s binder. But as I begin placing my mother’s belongings back inside the trunk, I spot something protruding from the pocket sewn beneath the lid. A leather-bound book and what looks like a pack of playing cards are tucked inside the pocket. I take out the pack of cards first. They’re a deck of tarot cards. I then take out the large leather-bound book. My heart pounds against my chest, for it looks like a journal and even has a small padlock. Could this be my mother’s diary?
    I remember my father used to keep his toolbox in the basement on an old bookcase near the stairs. Locating the toolbox on the