by Ruth Hay
Susan had spent most of a day on the phone with her own, and Maria’s, airline etickets spread out on the kitchen table and copious notes about dates and times scattered here and there. The easiest way to accomplish the change of tickets turned out to be the expensive phone connection back to Canada so that Anna’s London, Ontario, travel agent could supply the information online to an international agent and work out the changes at the best possible cost.
Eventually they acquired the five tickets to Glasgow on the same plane, and two returns to Toronto for Lucy and Maria. Anna had advised Susan and Jake to stay on for a few days at the farmhouse with her so that Angela could continue Jake’s therapy. This plan would allow Jake’s sister to drive north to Canada with their dogs so the reunion at home would be complete. Jake’s sister, Rena, was anxious to see her brother’s progress and would stay with the couple for another week or so provided the weather was not too bad for the drive back to Florida.
It took quite a lot of effort to pack the cases Lucy and Maria had arrived at the villa with. There were the new outfits, shoes and underwear that had been purchased, in addition to various tourist maps, pamphlets and brochures that Lucy insisted on saving.
Maria had almost closed her case and re-packed the carry-on bag for the fifth time, when Lucy appeared from the washroom with a strange expression on her face.
“Mom?” she began, and Maria knew there was trouble.
“What’s up, Lucy?”
“Well, I was hoping to keep this a secret but I guess I forgot to think about the size.”
“Size of what?” Maria’s heart sank. Lucy had bought something heavy or huge, and now there would be no space to pack it.
“You see, I wanted to try painting again, so I found canvas and paints in San Gimignano, in a tiny art shop beside the little shop where I bought the red cloak? I’ve been painting pictures for a while now and I think I need to take them back to Canada.”
“Lucy, that’s wonderful! Can I see them?”
Lucy disappeared back to the washroom closet and emerged in a few moments with a bundle wrapped in an old shirt.
“I’ve been keeping these away from you, under the bed.” Lucy carefully placed the bundle in her mother’s hands.
“Now, don’t expect too much, Mom. I haven’t painted for years and I had to work at it for a while before I got what I wanted.”
Maria unwrapped the six canvases and laid them on top of the bed.
There was complete silence in the room while Lucy waited anxiously for her mother’s verdict.
Maria was stunned by what she saw.
Finally, when she could speak again, she declared, “Lucy, these are incredibly good. You must have been painting from this room and other rooms on this floor. The angle gives you such a long perspective, right down the hillside towards Bologna far in the distance. You have caught the whole feel and atmosphere of the villa perfectly.”
Maria paused again, “Is this me watching the sunset?”
“Yeah, that’s the last one I did. It was very difficult to capture all the colours but I think it worked out all right.”
“The paintings are more than all right, Lucy. This is very good work. I can’t wait for your father to see them.”
“Now, that could be another problem, Mom. I painted them for Nonna and Nonni’s home in Toronto.”
“But that’s a wonderful, generous idea! You know they will be so grateful to have these.
It’s many years since they made the trip to Italy and this will remind them of Nonna’s childhood here.”
“Do you really think so?” Lucy’s tone revealed her as a little girl who still needed approval. More than anything else she said, this tone spoke volumes to her mother.
Maria ran to the other side of the bed and caught her daughter in a huge bear hug that squished all the air out of Lucy’s lungs. “I tell you the paintings are amazing and your grandparents will be ecstatic, not to mention your father, Lucy. He will be so proud of you, but not one bit more than I am at this minute!”
Lucy hugged her mother back, then disentangled herself and whispered, “But how do we get these back to Canada?”
Maria looked again at the canvases. They were all the same size measuring about 1.5 metres square. Their cases were out of the question, so special packing would have to be found.
“We will take them on board the planes with us, Lucy, we’ll find a post office or stationery store to supply a rigid box. Maybe Maurizio will know where to go for that. What about paints and brushes?”
“Oh, don’t bother with those. The paints are almost finished and the brushes can stay here. If we can get the paintings home in one piece I will be happy. The proper framing and matting can be done in Toronto once Nonna sees them and tells me what she would like.”
“In a way, I wish we were going home right now, Lucy.” Lucy understood her mother’s declaration. So much had happened in Italy and there was so much to tell her father and Theresa but there were other considerations as far as she was concerned.
“No way am I going to miss that ceilidh, Mom. I plan to be the belle of the ball, besides the bride, of course!” she added hastily.
Maria never noticed. She was gazing at the painting of herself alone on the terrace with the glass of wine in her hand. There was something very solitary and lonely about the figure; a kind of vulnerability that Lucy had caught perfectly. I am not the tough business woman I thought I was, she concluded. Lucy is not the only one who has changed here. We came just in time for me to learn a few very important lessons before it was too late.
Despite all the last-minute problems, they were finally ready to go. Family members had wandered in and out the day before to wish the travellers well, on the next stage of their journey.
Maria and Angela had decided to take two taxis to the airport as the wheel chair and the luggage took up a lot of space. The bags were stacked outside and only the hand luggage and Lucy’s paintings were left in the kitchen.
The three aunties stood together in front of the door like a defensive guard blocking their exit. A long speech began which Angela translated for Lucy. Her mother already understood what had been said and she looked surprised.
“Lucy!” Angela said, “The aunties want to give you a special saint’s medal. It is your namesake, Santa Lucia, to remind you of Italy and to bring you back here safely one day.”
The old lady in the middle of the trio, stepped forward with a tiny push from her sisters and clasped a silver chain around Lucy’s neck. Lucy could see the medal gleaming but she could not make out the figure on its face.” She turned to the aunties and said shyly, “Grazie, grazie!”
The trio smiled and launched into another speech which Maria reported to be the story of Saint Lucy who delivered gifts to good children on Epiphany Eve. Santa Lucia was known for this task only in Verona, but elsewhere she was revered as the protectress of sight.
Lucy was thrilled at the Verona connection and she wanted to thank each of the aunties in person. When she looked at them now she wondered how she could ever have thought they were identical old crones
“What are their names, Mom?’ she asked. “I want to thank them personally.”
Maria replied by reaching out to each pair of hands in turn. “This is my aunt Sophia, here is aunt Maria-Teresa and now, aunt Francesca.” Lucy was stunned to hear these names that had been handed down through her mother to the next generations in Canada. Lucy had never known the connection before. So many questions crowded her mind but there was no time to ask them.
Amid farewell cries of “Arrivederci!” the party of five walked down the stone steps to the lane for the last time. Lucy glanced back to imprint on her memory the shuttered windows with the ornate balconies where the last of the red geraniums bloomed profusely. Next time, she promised herself, I will paint the rest of this beautiful building.
There were tears in several eyes and Lucy did not see Maurizio waving from a side street as they lumbered down the steep hill i
n the heavily-laden taxi cabs.
Like all travel in these post 9/11 times, the trip to Scotland took most of the day. Everyone was exhausted by the time they were met at the train station in Oban by Anna and Fiona.
The required change of airplane in London, England, and the move to the train in Glasgow, had worn out Susan and Jake. Maria and Lucy were in slightly better shape, but after lugging cases from point to point and checking various schedules, they were both glad of the extra pair of hands Angela provided with the wheelchair.
At one juncture, Lucy whispered to her mother, “How come Angela speaks such good English?”
Maria replied that Angela had trained in the United States before returning to Italy.
Lucy realized once again she had been too involved in herself to find out the most basic things about the family around her in Italy. Opportunities had been missed, but she resolved to do better on that score from now on.
Anna and Fiona immediately took charge of luggage and parcels, leaving the passengers to settle into the comfy seats of Fiona’s large van. When the rear door slammed down, Anna assured everyone they would be relaxing in comfort at the farmhouse in only a few minutes.
It was as if she deliberately made this announcement early, knowing that by the time the farmhouse lane was visible, all of her passengers, except Lucy, would be fast asleep.
Anna nodded to Lucy to leave the sleepers and exit the van quietly. There was no point in waking them before the luggage was moved inside. Lucy knew which items belonged to which people, so it was easy to extract the luggage for Susan, Jake and Angela and leave the other cases, and Lucy’s specially-wrapped package, in the van.
“Hello, Lucy!” whispered Anna. Thanks for the help with this. Go on inside now. You will find a little surprise in the kitchen.”
Lucy walked up the path to the front door of the farmhouse. She knew approximately where the door was, although she had never been there before. Her mother’s story about Anna’s inheritance had often been told, and Lucy had seen the original aerial photograph of the house that had been sent to London by George, the solicitor who had taken care of Helen Dunlop’s affairs and who had contacted Anna after his client’s death.
The red-painted door opened into a small room where coats and boots were stored. A partly-open door to the side led into a bright washroom and two more doors ahead of Lucy were conveniently labeled, Kitchen and Lounge. Lucy wondered what one did in a lounge, but moved forward, as requested, into the kitchen.
This was a large room with a welcoming fire, burning brightly, on the end wall of the house. In the middle of the kitchen stood a wooden farmhouse table, similar to the one in the villa.
A huge bank of windows jutted out from where a wall at the front of the house must once have been. There were countertops, cupboards and comfy upholstered chairs and a shiny slate floor underfoot. As Lucy looked at this last item, she saw a cat slink out from under the table and approach to sniff at her feet.
“Well, hi there, puss!” she said softly. “You must be the surprise Aunt Anna mentioned.”
Lucy bent down slowly and stroked the thick fur on the back of the brown tabby.
They had never had animals at home when she was growing up and although Lucy had always wanted a dog, there was something soothing about this quiet little cat that looked at her with a trusting face.
“I see you’ve met our lovely Morag.”
Lucy looked up to meet the blue eyes of the young woman who had been driving the van. She was smaller than Lucy in height but looked strong and healthy, if her ruddy complexion was anything to go by.
“Anna’s gone out to wake up her visitors. Give me a hand with these cases. They go into the lounge where there’s a pull-down sofa bed. I’ll take this case upstairs for Angela. You turn on the kettle, Lucy, and we’ll get going right away.”
Lucy followed these orders as best she could. It felt like being back at school with the teachers directing you. This Fiona person was used to being obeyed, Lucy decided.
She found the white electric kettle on the counter near a window looking out to the back of the house. Nothing could be seen in the dark, but Lucy was pretty sure there was a mountain out there somewhere.
Fiona’s footsteps sounded as she came back down the central stairs and entered the kitchen.
“That’s good!” she said, and Lucy felt a jolt of pleasure as she received approval from this organized young woman.
“The supper is ready and everything is prepared for Anna’s guests. We’ll leave them now and get home to the cottage. It’s much smaller than this, Lucy, but you’ll enjoy being close to the town and the sea. You can have a quick look around and then get to bed, if you want. I have another run to make tonight to fetch a delivery for the wedding at the hotel, but I’ll be back before midnight.”
Lucy had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be staying with Fiona. Clearly no protests
about that arrangement would be possible and it might be fun to see what life was like in a cottage by the sea.
Bending down, Lucy gave a farewell pat to Morag, who was now purring wildly and weaving around Fiona’s booted feet.
They passed Maria on the path outside and Lucy managed to tell her mother to leave her cell phone on in case she needed to contact her, before she had to run to catch up with Fiona who was already waiting by the van.
At least I get to sit at the front this time, Lucy thought, but I won’t see much of Oban until tomorrow, I guess.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucy woke with a start when a door slammed shut somewhere.
She felt panic when her eyes opened and she thought the roof was falling down onto her head but it was only the steep slant of the wall. She remembered that Fiona had warned her not to sit up quickly or she would get a hard bump.
Rubbing her eyes and yawning widely, Lucy looked around. The air felt cold and she pulled the bedclothes up to her chin, until only her eyes were visible.
Daylight came in through a small window set into the slanted part of the roof above her head. The bedroom was tiny. The single bed and a mini-sized washbasin in one corner was all it contained. Hooks on the wall held Lucy’s coat and the clothes she had travelled in. Her suitcase and carry-on bag were under the clothes, against the wall and partly blocked the exit to the door.
Lucy had only a partial memory of the downstairs layout, since Fiona had taken her through to a small kitchen under the stairs and shown her a tray with tea, coffee and sandwiches before leaving on her final driving job of the night. A quick bite to eat and Lucy carried the mug of tea upstairs. She had succumbed to sleep before the mug was empty.
Thinking she had better make an appearance, Lucy had a brief splash in the basin, rubbed her toothbrush over her teeth and dragged her warmest clothes out of her suitcase. She found the wedding outfit in its zipped bag on top of the case and hung it up on one of the hooks thinking her mother would be annoyed if she knew how careless she had been with it.
A comb for her hair was always available in a pocket so that didn’t take much time. She dodged around the luggage on the floor and managed to slip out of the door but not without a loud screech from the hinge that must have wakened up anyone who was within hearing.
Lucy took a glance around and saw a couple more doors, one of which must be the freezing washroom she had visited last night, but the hallway was tiny again and she was only a step or two from the stairs. These creaked too, she discovered, but perhaps it wasn’t so strange when the whole cottage seemed ancient with huge flowered wallpaper, faded in places, on all the walls.
Descending the steep stairs carefully, as there was no handrail, Lucy found herself facing what must be the cottage’s entrance door. To her right was a room with a fireplace, a two-seater couch, an easy chair and a side table. She hardly remembered any of this as there had been no light on when she and Fiona had arrived last night. It was not difficult to find the kitchen again, however, as that was the only other room on the ground floor.
Fiona was not around, unless she was still in bed. Lucy thought she had never seen such a small living space. It was more like a doll’s house than anything, although if Fiona lived here alone, it probably was enough for her. Lucy backtracked to the fireplace where she had glimpsed a set of framed photographs. Since no one was here, she might as well indulge her curiosity.
It took some searching to find Fiona in the pictures but a much younger Fiona was there with a man and woman who were, presumably, her parents. The other pictures showed an older woman with snowy white hair, and a proud smile, whose wrinkled hands were clasped around a pie plate.
Lucy vaguely remembered a story about a ‘granny’ who cooked and baked for Anna when she first arrived at the farmhouse. This must be Fiona’s grandmother.
No one appeared from upstairs. Lucy wandered back to the kitchen, wondering if she should call out to Fiona, then she saw a note on the table.
Help yourself to breakfast, Lucy.
I have to do the Friday school run but
I’ll be back after that for an hour or so.
I work in the vet’s surgery this afternoon.
Take a look around the town.
I’ll find you if you are needed.
Fiona.
PS I left a key on the window ledge.
Lock the door when you leave.
Lucy had to read this note twice to get the significance. Fiona was working again this morning, but it wasn’t clear what a ‘school run’ involved. Obviously she had another job to do in the afternoon. By Lucy’s calculations that made three different jobs. Were all Scottish women so busy, she wondered, or is Fiona an exception?
Toast was the simplest meal Lucy could tackle. She found a small bottle of orange juice in the fridge but hesitated to drink it as there would be none left for Fiona. Finding the fridge was a challenge in itself. At first she thought it was a microwave, as it sat on the counter under the only three shelves that were all the storage space available for dishes and cups. As there was no sign of milk anywhere, Lucy finally tried to open the ‘microwave’ and found the missing fridge.
