The Sunflower Girl

by Rosanna Chiofalo

  Signora Ferraro blushed. So he’d figured out her ruse. But if he knew that the dishes she’d prepared for him were Anabella’s favorite, then Anabella must’ve told him so. For a moment, she felt joy that Anabella had expressed to him that she’d loved the food her mother had cooked for her all those years. Perhaps Anabella hadn’t completely closed herself off to her mother.

  “So will you go visit your daughter?”

  “I think you should make sure first that your wife is all right with that. After all, it is her home, and I don’t want to go where I’m not wanted.”

  “She wouldn’t turn you away, Signora Ferraro, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  This young man was too perceptive. She turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest, pretending she was watching one of her workers as he harvested roses. Shortly after the last time she’d seen Anabella, Signora Ferraro had decided to hire more workers to run the farm. She couldn’t handle it any longer. It was too much for her, and, with Anabella gone, Signora Ferraro’s physical stamina had seemed to dissipate almost overnight. She’d even contemplated selling a portion of the land, but couldn’t bring herself to do that just yet, although she knew there would come a time when she’d be forced to. Sighing deeply, her thoughts turned to when Anabella was a child, and she’d envisioned Anabella taking over the rose farm one day and then passing it along to her children so that the nursery would remain a family legacy. But Anabella had her own life now—one that didn’t involve Signora Ferraro or the farm.

  “Let me go inside and get you some food. This way Anabella won’t have to cook as much, especially after you leave for your trip and she’ll be busy with the girls.” Signora Ferraro walked toward the house, even though she could see Dante was about to say something.

  He followed her into the house and sat down at the kitchen table as Signora Ferraro poured bowls of minestrone into glass storage containers.

  “Why don’t you come back to the house with us now? This way you can eat with us. I could help break the ice between you and Anabella.”

  “Grazie, Dante. But your wife will be upset with you for not giving her any notice.” She resumed pouring the minestrone into the containers. Then she used a wet dish towel to wipe any soup that had spilled on the edges of the containers before placing the lids on. She walked over to the kitchen counter where an almond hazelnut cake she had baked that morning stood on a porcelain pedestal. She cut half the cake and wrapped it in foil.

  “I used to make this cake for Anabella once a week. She couldn’t get enough of it, and now her girls can’t seem to get enough of it either.” Signora Ferraro laughed softly.

  Valeria and Mariella looked up and both said in unison, “Torta! Torta!”

  Signora Ferraro bent down so that she was at eye level with the twins. “After you go home and eat your lunch with Papà and Mamma, then you will get to eat your cake.”

  “You come?” Mariella asked her nonna. Lately, the girls would play this game of continually asking her if she would go back home with them whenever Dante picked them up.

  “No, my little angels. Not this time,” was always her response.

  Dante stood up, shaking his head. “I’ve never met two more stubborn women than you and my wife. What I would give to have my mother here. All I know is that if she were still alive and we had had an argument, I would do whatever it took to make amends. The two of you make me so mad.” Dante pushed his chair roughly up against the kitchen table, startling Mariella and Valeria, who began to cry.

  “I’m sorry, Dante. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Signora Ferraro patted the cheeks of the twins with her aprons, drying their tears.

  “Just think about what I said. Will you promise me that?” He looked into her eyes.

  She looked down. “I will.”

  Dante picked up the girls and headed outside.

  “Oh, the food, Dante. I’ll carry it to the car for you.”

  Once they reached Dante’s car and he had placed the twins inside, he took the food from Signora Ferraro. He leaned over and kissed her on both cheeks, stunning her. He had never kissed her before.

  “We care about you very much. Remember that. Thank you for the food.” He smiled and turned around, but Signora Ferraro placed a hand on his arm.

  “Dante, I have never thanked you for bringing the girls here, and I have never apologized to you for the horrible way I acted toward you when you first came here, asking for my permission to see Anabella. You are a good man, and I am very happy my daughter is with you. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

  “You were just trying to protect your daughter. Thank you, Signora Ferraro. I accept your apology. As for bringing the girls here, I could not live with myself if they didn’t know their grandmother, and, while Anabella doesn’t say so, I know it also makes her happy that Mariella and Valeria get to spend time at the farm with their grandmother. Arrivederci.”

  “Arrivederci. Drive safely even though it’s a short trip.” She smiled as she waved to Dante and the girls, waiting until they drove down the road.

  Signora Ferraro walked slowly to her special white rose garden. When she reached it, she sat on the small white bench and looked at her perfect roses. The air was filled with their fragrance, and she inhaled deeply.

  Everything Dante had said was true. She had never seen it from another perspective until he brought up how he couldn’t understand her continued estrangement from Anabella. No wonder he had become so angry. She felt shame once again. For Dante had lost his mother and wished she were still here so he could see and talk to her, whereas Signora Ferraro was still alive, yet she and Anabella chose to remain apart.

  Perhaps Signora Ferraro should go to her instead of waiting for Anabella to make the first move? She had been worried when Dante mentioned he would be away in Florence for two weeks. Anabella needed help. Signora Ferraro knew Chiara went to visit Anabella. They had remained friends, and even Chiara had tried to talk sense into Signora Ferraro, asking her to go to her daughter. But Chiara was now married and had her own family to look after. She couldn’t go and stay with Anabella for two weeks and help her with twin toddlers.

  “What should I do, Franco?” Signora Ferraro looked up to the sky as she said this aloud.

  But she didn’t need to ask Franco—for she knew what his answer would be. Without a shred of doubt, she was certain that he must be ashamed and angry with her that she had turned away their child.

  “I was just so tired of being hurt, Franco. So tired of losing those I loved. And yes, I was angry with her too for choosing Dante over me. I know. I was a selfish fool, thinking she would never grow up and leave my side.” She laughed. “Can you believe what has become of me, Franco? Do you recognize this woman? I am a far cry from the assertive, confident, and independent young woman you met and fell in love with. Losing you, and Papà, Michele, and Enza, turned me into this shell of a woman who became so needy that she smothered her only child. No wonder she left me.”

  Tears slid down her face as she whispered, “Forgive me, Franco. Forgive me.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Anabella

  Pienza, 1974

  The stitches lined up neatly on the sundress Anabella was sewing on her machine for Valeria. She had made an identical one for Mariella and was now finishing up Valeria’s. It was midnight, and she worked quickly so she would finish soon and be able to go to bed. She was exhausted and, with Dante in Florence, her fatigue had only intensified since she didn’t have him to help her. Although he was always busy with his paintings, whatever help he could give was better than nothing.

  She smiled as she did her work, thinking about how Dante had surprised her with the sewing machine as a gift after she’d had the twins. Mamma had taught her how to sew when she was a child. Anabella had missed not having a sewing machine, especially now that she had Valeria and Mariella, and longed to make their clothes as her mother had done for her. Suddenly, a memory flashed before her eyes of when she was five years
old and she and her mother had worn matching pale yellow dresses, which her mother had sewn for them. From the yellow roses Anabella loved to the lemon chiffon dress she had worn as a teenager on Easter Sunday, yellow had always been her favorite color. Maybe that was why she also had grown to love sunflowers so much. Anabella remembered clearly that day when she was little and had been walking hand in hand with her mother to church in their new dresses; she had glanced up at her mother every few seconds and couldn’t stop giggling over the fact that they were wearing matching dresses. After that, Signora Ferraro had made a few other matching outfits for them. Perhaps Anabella should make matching dresses for herself and the twins. That way the three of them could wear them together to church one day just as she had done with Mamma. The thought made her giggle softly to herself. But as always, whenever she thought about her mother a sadness soon enveloped her.

  How many times had Dante tried to convince her to go talk to her mother or pick up the phone? She had thought she would be able to get out of the car and at least exchange a simple greeting with her the few times she had accompanied Dante to drop off the girls at the rose farm. But Anabella had felt paralyzed and could not step out of the car. She couldn’t even look at her mother and had used the wide brim of her straw hat to shield her face.

  Whenever she thought about the ugly words her mother had uttered to her that day when she’d visited her to tell her she was pregnant, a knife went through her. She couldn’t bear feeling that way again. What if Mamma spoke to her like that again if she called her or went to the farm? True, she had said horrible things back to Mamma, which she regretted, but she’d been so angry that her own mother was turning her away and at a time when she needed her. How could she forgive that?

  Anabella finished up the last stitching on the dress and examined it. Content with her work, she laid it on top of the pile of clothes that needed to be ironed. Mariella and Valeria would love the dresses. Anabella rubbed her eyes and looked around her. Dante had provided a good life for them just as he’d promised he would. He was now a much sought-after artist in both Florence and Siena. And next month, he would have an exhibit in Milan as well. They had bought this house soon after they returned from Florence. Dante and her daughters had made her very happy. If only she could have all the people she loved in her life.

  Anabella stood up, and suddenly the room spun before her. She stumbled over to the nearest wall, bracing herself against it as she tried to fight off the sharp wave of vertigo that had hit her. Lately, she’d been having dizzy spells, which she attributed to either being dehydrated or not eating enough or sleeping enough. She needed to start taking better care of herself, but often she forgot to eat or drink or even sometimes bathe with all the demands of her children.

  Pressing her forehead to the wall, she waited for the vertigo to pass. It usually just took a few seconds. She waited, but it seemed to intensify. Making her way to the kitchen slowly, she went over to the sink and splashed water on her face. But when she was done, she felt herself beginning to lose consciousness as her body felt weaker. The girls! she thought to herself. Using whatever little strength she had left, she did her best to stay conscious as she went over to the phone that hung on the wall, next to the refrigerator. She waited as the phone on the other end of the line seemed to ring forever. Her body felt cold as she began to sweat profusely.

  “Pronto.”

  “Mamma! Please come quickly. I’m not feeling well. I think I’m about to faint. The girls are alone.”

  “Anabella?”

  “Hurry, Mamma. I can’t hold on any longer.” Anabella let the phone hang from the receiver as she slumped down to the ground and lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER 32

  Dante

  Pienza, 1975

  Dante painted a few last strokes on his canvas before stepping away from it and examining it. The painting was the first he’d ever done of Signora Ferraro’s rose garden. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to capture the roses in any of his paintings before. But now that he’d been living here for the past year, he’d found inspiration in the gorgeous flowers.

  Signora Ferraro and the girls waved to him as they made their way slowly over to him. His mother-in-law had been out picking roses with Valeria and Mariella, who never tired of collecting the flowers and setting them up in small vases in the room they shared in Signora Ferraro’s house. Sometimes they made a mess as they pulled the petals off their stems and scattered them all over the house, but their grandmother never scolded them. If anything, she spoiled them too much. The girls loved it here and had stopped asking months ago when they would be going back home.

  “It’s hot out there.” Signora Ferraro tugged at the collar of her shirtwaist dress as she fanned herself with her straw hat.

  “Let’s go inside and have something to drink.”

  He began to head back to the house, but noticed Signora Ferraro remained rooted in place. Dante glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming, Signora Ferraro?”

  She was staring at the painting he’d completed.

  “Ah! That was supposed to be a surprise for you.”

  Signora Ferraro looked up, stunned. Her hand was over her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

  “You don’t like it?” Dante held out his hands as if he were hurt.

  Signora Ferraro playfully swatted his arm. “I love it! It’s just strange to see myself in it. You’ve captured the rose garden perfectly, and the children look gorgeous!”

  “You can hang it up on that bare wall you have over the dining room table.”

  The painting depicted Signora Ferraro picking roses with Valeria and Mariella in the garden. She held a rose out to the girls as they leaned forward to smell the flower. Signora Ferraro’s face glowed as she looked at her granddaughters. There was no doubt of the love that was evident in her features.

  “Grazie, Dante.” She walked over and embraced him. He hugged her back.

  They had grown close in the past year, and not just because he was living here. For they both now stood to lose the love of their life—Anabella.

  Signora Ferraro and Dante had bonded over their shared goal of helping Anabella fight her battle with leukemia. Ever since that night when Signora Ferraro had rushed over to their house after Anabella had fainted, she hadn’t left her daughter’s side. Chiara had met Signora Ferraro at their house, and she had stayed behind with the twins as Signora Ferraro rode with Anabella in the ambulance on the way over to the hospital.

  Dante had driven as fast as possible from Florence, and when he arrived at the hospital, he’d found Signora Ferraro and Anabella talking. They were laughing and reminiscing about when she was a child. When he stepped into the room and saw Anabella, he knew immediately she was seriously ill, even though they were still waiting for the test results. He just sensed it. Dante had barely been able to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke to her, and Signora Ferraro, noticing immediately that he was about to lose his composure, had quickly filled in the gaps with conversation, giving him time to regain his strength.

  After the doctor had told them Anabella had leukemia, he had walked over to the patient waiting area and had broken down crying. Thankfully, no one besides him and Signora Ferraro had been present. His mother-in-law had taken him into her arms and comforted him, much the way he knew his own mother would have if she were still alive. Signora Ferraro had cried too, but she had been more in control than he was, at least at that moment. He was certain when she was alone, she must’ve been beside herself.

  So Anabella had begun her chemo treatments right away. And when she was able to return home, Signora Ferraro had asked them if they wanted to stay at the rose farm. This way, Dante could continue to work, and she could help out with the twins as well as care for Anabella. Dante had been worried that it would be too much for Signora Ferraro, but when he’d spoken to Anabella about it, she had wasted no time in saying she wanted to return to her childhood home and make up for all the time she’d lost these past few
years being estranged from her mother. He knew Anabella was thinking what both he and Signora Ferraro had thought about every day since they learned of her illness—that she might not have more time. True, the doctors had said the cancer was at an intermediate stage, and she had a good chance of beating it, but Dante knew he had to prepare for the worst in case that happened.

  During the day, he told Anabella jokes and played with the girls, making sure the atmosphere was as positive as possible. But at night, he lay awake, imagining what his days would be like if he lost the love of his life. He should’ve known it was too good to be true—meeting the woman he had dreamed about night after night, and then discovering she was this incredibly sweet, wonderful person.

  “I was beginning to think you all had gone off to some party.” Anabella made her way over to them with the help of a cane. Some days when the chemo treatments had left her feeling especially weak, she resorted to getting around in a wheelchair, which the twins loved since they would sit in her lap and ask her to take them for a ride. But Dante had had to limit these “rides,” for Anabella never complained in front of the children or mentioned if they were hurting her while in her lap.

  “Anabella, it’s too hot here. We should go back inside.” Signora Ferraro rushed to her daughter’s side.

  “I’m fine, Mamma. Please. It’s good for me to get fresh air. Dr. Biaggi said so as well.”

  “Well, let me go get a pitcher of rose water so we can at least have something to drink.” Signora Ferraro smiled and patted Anabella’s arm before she walked toward the house.

  “Mamma, look at my roses.” Mariella held out her small basket of roses to Anabella.

  “Belli. Do you like living here more than our house, Mariella?”

  “Sometimes!” Mariella giggled.

  “And what about you, Valeria?”

  “I like it here, but I miss the sunflowers. Why doesn’t Nonna have sunflowers, too?”