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Sicily, 1920
Sophia tossed down an armful of crummy hay, then put her hands on her hips. “Now, don’t you complain at me. That’s the best you’re gonna get, you ungrateful shmuck.”
The goat looked up at her with baleful eyes. It gave a sad bleat.
“Oh, knock it off. I know you and your games.” But still, she looked around, peeking over the side of the ramshackle goat pen. No parents or brothers or sisters around. She pulled a handful of good oats from her pocket. “Fine. You talked me into it. But don’t tell anyone that I’m a soft touch.”
She fed the oats to the old goat, then brushed her hands off and sighed. What a lousy life. Chores from dawn to dusk, and even after dusk. Feeding goats, wrestling with laundry, cooking and cleaning all the time…
Sure, life in the village had its perks. Plenty of eligible young men for marriage eventually, although Sophia suspected that wasn’t all it was cracked up to be either. None of her fleeting relationships so far had gone very well.
“I think I’ll get outta here someday,” Sophia announced to the goat. “You’ll see. I’m gonna be really successful.”
The goat bleated at her, as if in doubt.
“Oh, who cares what you think. Your brain’s smaller than one of those oats.” Without giving the goat’s opinion another thought, Sophia raised her chin defiantly and went off to gather laundry. Someday, she was gonna show everyone just what she was capable of.
---
Miami, 1986
Sophia pushed into the house and snuck a quick look around. Maybe everyone was out. After all, the living room was empty aside from the goat nibbling on a potted plant.
“What’re you doing in here?” she demanded. The goat ignored her. “You know you’re supposed to be in the backyard, out of sight!”
“Is that you, Ma?” Dorothy called from the kitchen.
“Yep, just me!” Damn, not all out. Sophia glared down at the goat and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Go on, you. Outside, now.”
Waving her purse urgently, she chased the goat back outside and closed the door again. Then, with her best innocent expression, she went into the kitchen.
“How was the trip to the park?” Dorothy asked without looking up. She was sitting at the table, icing cookies.
“Lousy.” Sophia went over to her daughter and stuck out a hand. “Gimme a drink.”
“Do you see a bottle of whiskey in my hand?” Dorothy gestured with the icing bag. “Besides, you’re on medications. You’re not allowed to have alcohol right now. It could cause serious side effects.”
“I don’t care. Gimme a drink.”
“I care!” Lips pursed, Dorothy set down the icing bag and dusted off her hands. “I am not giving you a drink. Now, do you want to tell me what happened at the park?”
“No.” And hopefully, she’d never have to explain. She stuck her hand out again instead. “If you won’t give me a drink, it seems to me that the least you can do is give your poor, miserable mother a cookie.”
“They’re for a charity bake sale.” Conflict tugged at Dorothy’s expression. Then, sighing, she put two of them on a nearby plate and handed it over. “Fine. You win, again.”
“Of course I do. I always win.” Not that she’d won today. But that was a problem for later, after cookies and some time to come up with a new plan.
She ate the first one in peace and heaved a dramatic, woeful sigh. Dorothy didn’t take the bait, although she did get up. But instead of bringing back a real drink, she poured a glass of milk.
Well. It wasn’t what Sophia wanted, but growing up in that lousy village had taught her never to let anything go to waste.
Just as she reached for the milk, a shriek came from the back yard. “Oh my gawd, my plants! What have you done to my plants, you filthy beasts?”
“Whoops.” Abandoning the milk, Sophia grabbed her purse and prepared to stand. Time for a quick getaway.
But before she could make a break for it, Dorothy’s heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “What did you do now?”
“What makes you think I did anything?” Sophia protested, putting on her best innocent expression.
Dorothy pointed urgently towards the window. “The fact that Blanche is screaming her head off in the back yard!”
“What, that? She’s probably just back there with a man again.”
“Oh my gaaaawd!” Blanche hurtled inside, a hand pressed to her bosom. She closed her eyes and gave a dramatic heaving sigh that came close to marveling Sophia’s best expressions of despair. “Oh, I don’t know how I shall ever recover from such a scare in time for my date tonight. There’s a whole herd of farm animals in my back yard! Goats everywhere!”
“Did someone say farm animals?” Rose pushed the kitchen door open, peering in, her eyes wide with excitement. “I love farm animals!”
“We know,” Sophia and the others said in unison.
“Back in St. Olaf—”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that the ‘farm animals’ have something to do with my mother.” Stepping back, Dorothy crossed her arms. “Ma?”
Sophia ate her second cookie, undaunted by the three sets of eyes staring at her. If nothing else, at least she had a captive audience.
After drinking her milk, she sat back and raised both hands. “Picture it: Sicily, 1920.”
Dorothy groaned.
“A beautiful young peasant girl is weary after her long, hard day of physical toil and hard labor. But still, she tends to the family goat, a sad, rumpled old thing.” Putting on her saddest expression, Sophia shook her head. “The family was poor. They could hardly afford any food for themselves, let alone their beloved goat.”
“Oh, we had a year like that on the farm,” Rose interrupted. “One year in St. Olaf, we had a terrible drought. The lakes got so low that the herring barely had any water to drink! So, we all got together and prayed to St. Nurgenflurger—”
“Shut up, Rose,” Sophia snapped. Rose shut up. “Anyway. That day, the girl looked at the poor, starving goat. She promised that some day, she’d find a way to make sure that no goat ever went hungry again. And that beautiful young peasant girl… was me.”
Everyone stared at her.
Blanche broke the silence. “But why in heaven’s name are you feeding those animals with my back yard? One of my gentleman callers is on his way over right now, and now there’s no lovely grass left to cushion the movement of our bodies during each passionate—”
“Nobody wants to hear about it,” Dorothy interrupted. She still had her arms crossed, and she was still frowning. “Ma. Do you seriously expect us to buy that you put a herd of goats in the back yard just so they could have a buffet?”
“Of course not.” Sophia leaned forward and snatched another cookie from the plate. “I didn’t put them there. Paulie Sperduti put them there to pay off his gambling debt to me.”
The irritated frown on Dorothy’s face turned to one of confusion. “Wait a minute. How did you end up gambling for goats?”
“Well, it’s a function of the Sperduti family curse. After a week, whatever money is left in their house turns into goats.”
“It does?” Rose gasped, then frowned. “But Sophia, how is that a curse?”
Ignoring her, Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You were playing cards, you won, and he tried to stiff you?”
“He did, that lousy jerk. So I told him he had to pay up, or else I’d send Cousin Raniero to collect.” Sophia gave a what’re you gonna do shrug. “So, he paid me with his goats. That’s why I was out today, trying to sell their services to the guy who maintains the parks.”
“I take it he didn’t bite?” Dorothy asked.
“Nope, but the goat did. Paulie brought one along, to show off what they could do, and it nibbled on the guy’s shorts. He didn’t take it very well.” Sophia tried to steal another cookie, and this time, Dorothy slapped her hand away. “What a bummer. It coulda been a great moneymaker, my goats mowing the grass in all the parks of Florida.”
Narrowing her eyes, Dorothy wagged an accusatory finger at her. “That’s the real reason you were gambling with Paulie again, wasn’t it? So you could win his goats and get rich.”
“What can I say? He’s a lousy card player. And I had to do something.” Sighing, Sophia pulled her wallet from her purse and showed off how empty it was. “And we’re not exactly rolling in dough. Soon, we’ll be like that goat back in Sicily. I figured if I started a business, I could help you girls out more…”
“Aww, isn’t that just the nicest thing?” Rose beamed at everyone. “See, Blanche, she didn’t mean any harm with those little old goats.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Hand on her bosom again, as if touched by Sophia’s concern for their monetary status, Blanche gave a little laugh. “All right. I suppose I forgive you for getting my back yard all eaten up, since it was with such good intentions.”
“That’s very magnanimous of you,” Sophia said solemnly, ignoring the way Dorothy glared at her. “You’re such good friends.”
Rose bounced in her seat, rubbing her hands together. “Can I go play with the goats now?”
Inclining her head, Sophia gestured to the door. “Please. Be my guest.”
“Oh, goody! Come on, Blanche.” Rose grabbed Blanche’s hand and dragged her away. “You’ll see how fun it is to have those little cuties around. I’ll bet you wanna keep the whole herd.”
“Aww, honey, I don’t know about that.”
Sophia snagged another cookie amid the chaos. She ate it calmly, waiting.
Dorothy, too, waited. But only until the others were gone. Then she thumped the table. “Ma, shame on you! You made all of that up. You had no intention whatsoever of sharing that money with any of us.”
“You always were too smart for your own good, pussycat.” Sophia patted her daughter’s hand. “You know, even back when I was a girl, I wanted to have a business of my own. To be really successful.”
“By renting goats as lawnmowers?”
Sophia ignored the question, putting on her best winning smile. “None of my business ventures over the years have gone all that well, but I have been really successful in one area. I’ve raised a wonderful daughter.”
Immediately, Dorothy melted and took her hand. “Aww, Ma. That’s so sweet of you to say.”
“Well, it’s the truth. And since you’re such a wonderful daughter…” Sophia waited, watching as the anticipation on Dorothy’s face built up. “You’ll let me have more of your cookies, right?”
“Ma!”
But despite protests, Dorothy handed over the cookies anyway. Pleased with herself, Sophia kicked back and ate them slowly, enjoying her victory. Sure, the goat scheme hadn’t worked out, like so many others. But by any other measure of success, her life had turned out pretty great.