IN AMERICA, anything was possible. This was what Josephine’s husband told her before he left their village to catch the ship in Naples. She didn’t know him, this husband of hers. Their marriage had been arranged by their parents long ago, before Josephine had breasts or menstruated for the first time. He was considered a step up for her family: his parents owned land in the next village, and pigs, and even a cow. He had been to Rome, where for two years he worked as a guard at the king’s palace. “Vincenzo Rimaldi,” Josephine’s mother had told her from the very day the betrothal was set, when Josephine was only eight years old. “He will give you a good life. You will have fresh milk every day. And pork…
