So it was with delight that Fra Silvestro welcomed Julia to the orphanage in August, hoping that she would moderate her husband’s more aggressive charity.
When the Emersons arrived, they were met by the director; his assistant, Elena; and an assembly of children. The children, who ranged in age from four to eight, addressed Julia as Zia Julia and presented her with a bouquet and a series of drawings they’d made. The illustrations were done in bright colors and featured smiling children and a woman with long, dark hair standing in the center.
For a moment, Gabriel was overwhelmed. In the eyes of the children, especially the older ones, he saw a glimpse of himself as a child. He remembered standing in the waiting room of the hospital in Sunbury after his mother died, trying to get something to eat from the vending machine. He didn’t have any money and so he crawled on the ground to check under the machine for lost coins.
Gabriel tamped down the memory. If Grace hadn’t come upon him that day, his life would have turned out very, very differently.
Julia greeted all the children, crouching down to their level. She seemed perfectly at ease, chattering and laughing with them in Italian.
After the introductions were made, the Emersons were led to a side yard where the rest of the orphanage’s children, ages one to twelve, had gathered. The staff brought out the infants, so that they too could join the party.
Gabriel had been unable to rent a petting zoo but had secured the services of four ponies and their handlers. The ponies were tethered at the far end of the yard, surrounded by a crowd of excited children.
There were balloons and games, and a large, inflated bouncing castle. There were tables of food and desserts, and a large pyramid of wrapped gifts.
“How will they know which gift is for which child?” Gabriel pondered aloud.
Julia glanced at the pyramid. “I’m sure each gift is labeled.”
“What if they don’t like the present they receive?”
“Elena asked the children what they wanted and we bought it.” Julia squeezed his hand. “Stop fussing. The children will see you frowning and you’ll scare them.”
Gabriel sniffed at being so maligned but cautiously adjusted his expression.
He watched as she played games with the children, blowing bubbles and batting around balloons. A dark-haired, dark-eyed toddler took a shine to her, and soon Julia was carrying the boy on her hip and wresting her hair from his chubby fists, while avoiding a slight trickle of drool.
Gabriel was seized with a realization so strong it hurt.
Julianne was born to be a mother. She’s loving and giving and patient. She has what my biological mother lacked, and what Grace had in abundance.
Maybe she even has enough to compensate for my own shortcomings.
To keep his melancholy at bay, Gabriel helped with the ponies, lifting children on and off their saddles. Julia had been correct. The ponies were the highlight of the event. Children lined up to pet and feed them in between rides.
When it was time to hand out presents, Gabriel stood behind the gift table with Julia.
Brother Silvestro made an announcement to the children, thanking Zio and Zia Emerson for their generosity. Gabriel and Julia nodded to polite applause. Then Julia began handing out the presents, still holding on to the toddler.
Gabriel would have joined her, but a little boy pulled at his trousers in an effort to secure his attention.
“Hello,” said Gabriel, in Italian. “How are you?”
“Are you him?” the boy asked.
“Am I whom?”
“Superman.”
Gabriel gave the child a puzzled smile. “Why do you think I’m Superman?’
“You look like him. Can I see under your shirt?” The boy pointed to Gabriel’s white oxford button-down.
He smiled wryly. “I don’t have my suit on today.”
“You’re wearing Clark Kent’s glasses.”
Gabriel removed his glasses and frowned at them. He thought his Prada frames were a good deal smarter than the horrific pair that Clark Kent wore.
(Perhaps he’d been mistaken.)
Gabriel didn’t have time to be offended, however, because as soon as he took off the glasses, the boy gasped. A small crowd of other children soon gathered around.
“It’s Superman,” the first boy whispered, triumphantly.
Gabriel replaced his glasses, then reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair.
“I’m afraid I’m not Superman. I’m Zio Gabriel from America. Zia Julia is my wife.”
The children looked over at Julia, who was continuing to call out names and dispense brightly colored presents. She caught their eyes and smiled prettily.
“That’s Lois Lane.” A little voice piped up.
“Yes,” said the first boy. “We recognize her. That’s Lois Lane.”
Gabriel examined Julia with new eyes.
“I thought Lois was taller,” he mused, half to himself.
“I have a picture. See?” A boy held up a comic book and pointed to the drawing of Lois Lane on the cover. “It’s her.”
“She cut her hair,” said another boy, eyeing Julia with disappointment. “I liked it longer.”
“Tell me about it,” Gabriel muttered.
“Can you do any tricks?” a girl interjected.
“What kind of tricks?” The Professor fought to hide his amusement.
“Lift something heavy, see through walls, fly.”
“Oh, yes, fly!” The children began to jump up and down.
The Professor looked at the ever-increasing crowd of youngsters moving around him and sighed. He held his hands out to quiet them.
Then he leaned forward, dropping his voice.
“No one knows Clark Kent is Superman.”
“I know,” said one of the boys, lifting his hand high in the air.
Gabriel grinned. “Yes, you know. But none of the adults know. Lois and I are here for the party. So I need you all to help us keep this a secret. Understand?”
Some of the children gazed at him skeptically, but many of them nodded.
“Now Lois has a present for all of you. Why don’t you go over and say hello and pick up your gift?”
With a somewhat mixed reaction, the children began to disperse, soon distracted by other pursuits.
Julia, who had been half-listening to the exchange nearby, caught his eye and winked.
Superman? she mouthed.
He shook his head. He’d been called a lot of things in his thirty-five years, but no one had ever accused him of being Superman. Although he had to admit, Julia would make a damn fine Lois Lane.