Rachella

R

Rachella

 

Family lore tells the story of Michelangelo, my great grandfather, who left his wife, two daughters and a son to travel to America from his remote mountain village in Italy.  His promise to his family was that he would send for them once he settled. 

Research shows that he would have had to travel by donkey or on foot to get down the mountain to reach a larger town. The journey would be an arduous one, taking several days.

From there he most likely would have boarded a steam engine train that carried him to the large bustling chaotic city of Naples. 

In Naples he might have had to wait days before boarding a steamship. His accommodations on the ship would have been steerage. 

The journey across the Atlantic Ocean to Ellis Island in America would have taken a long hard 10-12 days. 

But Michelangelo is not the main character in this story. 

No, this tale is about his eldest daughter Rachella. 

At this point, I’m going to assume the time frame because the facts are a little hazy. Communication would have been handwritten letters, which, could have taken up to three weeks travelling between a small Italian town and America.  

I would imagine that after several months had passed since his departure from Castelnuovo di Conza, with no word from him, his wife Asunda, would have begun to worry. 

That must have been when she made the scariest decision of her life-to send her daughter on the same journey as her husband had taken several months before. 

Rachella, age 16, was to go to America to find her father. 

I do believe there was a strong family bond and deep love among them. How must Rachella have felt leaving her mother, sister and brother behind? 

I knew my grandmother, Rachella, to be strong and loving. She raised ten living children and grieved the loss of three babies. She was grandma to 33 of us. She made each of her children and the grandchildren who were fortunate enough to have known her, feel special and loved. 

Sunday dinners were exactly what you would imagine an Italian Mama would cook and serve. 

As long as they lived, each of her children would tear up when speaking of their mother-my dear grandmother Rachella. 

Although Rachella’s mother, sister and brother never made to America, she remained close to them through letters, packages and financial support. 

My mother, aunts and uncles would tell me that Rachella never spoke of her father. They only knew that she came to America to find him. 

Since she was so reticent to speak of her father, we assume she never did find him.   

But that remains a mystery to this day. 

Although we may never know what became of Michelangelo, the story of Rachella is one I intend to pass on.