Signora Ferraro walked out just in time to hear Valeria’s question. She stopped and paled considerably. Anabella quickly changed the topic.
“Ah! Let us have some rose water, and then we can go inside and have Nonna’s special biscotti that she made.” Anabella busied herself with pouring rose water into glasses for the girls. Dante noticed how her hand shook, but he didn’t offer to help. She had rebuked him every time he’d done so for the first few months of her illness. Though she had made considerable strides, she still had a ways to go to regain her former strength.
Signora Ferraro put down the pitcher of rose water and excused herself.
“I will go get the plate of biscotti. I’ll be right back.”
Anabella and Dante looked at each other.
“You know how weird she gets about sunflowers. I’ve just learned to ignore it.” Anabella shrugged her shoulders.
Dante frowned. He had noticed that Signora Ferraro never ventured into the basement where he’d been working and storing his paintings. He had tried to show her once a few of the portraits he’d made of Anabella standing in their sunflower garden. After they’d purchased their house in Pienza, Anabella had started gardening. She had planted an assortment of flowers, from lavender to hydrangeas and even roses. But she had wanted most of the garden to have sunflowers. For she said they reminded her of when she and Dante first fell in love and of course of Dante’s dreams of her running through the sunflower field and later his painting her among the flowers.
“Biscotti e Nutella . . . biscotti e Nutella!” Signora Ferraro sang this little chant whenever she brought out two of the twins’ favorite desserts. Soon Anabella, Mariella, and Valeria were singing along with her as well.
Dante laughed. He watched as Signora Ferraro and Anabella spread generous dollops of Nutella on the biscotti, which were huge. Naturally, the girls would never finish the biscotti.
“I’m going to head down to the basement and get some more work done.” Dante kissed Anabella on the forehead before he took his leave.
“You work too much, Dante,” Signora Ferraro said. Concern filled her eyes. He was touched that she worried about him.
“Painting isn’t work for me. It’s my passion, and I can’t live without it.” Just like Anabella, he couldn’t help thinking, but fortunately, he’d had the sense not to utter it aloud.
An hour later, Signora Ferraro made her way down the creaking stairs of her basement. Dante was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear her until he saw a shadow over his canvas.
“Ah! Signora Ferraro, you startled me. What are you doing down here? You never come down here.”
Signora Ferraro didn’t answer. Her eyes traveled from painting to painting that lined the walls of the basement and even covered much of the floor. In a few of the corners, rows of easels stood with more completed work. Though he had begun painting other subjects besides Anabella after they were married, in the past year he had returned to painting his favorite subject. He’d even pleaded with Anabella to pose for a few when she’d begun feeling stronger, but he was always certain to have her sitting comfortably or even lying in bed.
“I’m not beautiful anymore,” Anabella had told him.
She had lost much of her hair after her chemo treatments and kept her head covered in vividly colored silk scarves.
“You are still as beautiful as the first time I saw you in my dreams, if not more so. Every day I notice something new and radiant about you. That is why I’ve returned to making you my sole subject in my work.”
Dante’s cheeks flushed a bit as he remembered the small lie he had told his wife. While it was true that he did notice another beautiful aspect of Anabella on a daily basis, it wasn’t the only reason why he’d returned to creating so many paintings of her.
“These are breathtaking,” Signora Ferraro said.
Dante watched her as she walked slowly around the room looking at each of the canvases.
“You are so talented, Dante. No wonder my daughter fell in love with you, and look at how beautiful you’ve made my daughter appear even now that she is . . .” Her voice caught as her eyes filled with tears.
“Well, I have Anabella to thank just as much for my success. She has been the perfect muse.” He began wiping the paint from his hands as he went to stand by Signora Ferraro.
“Dante, may I be frank with you?”
“Of course. I would think after all we’ve been through, especially the past year, you would feel comfortable always speaking freely with me.”
“I am worried about you.”
Once again, Signora Ferraro’s eyes filled with concern as she looked at him. He put his arm around her shoulders.
“I am fine. How can I not be? I have my wife, my daughters, and a wonderful mother-in-law, all living under one roof. We are finally a real family. And I know Anabella will be fine.” Dante’s voice shook a little as he spoke this last sentence.
“Please, Dante. You don’t need to pretend or be strong in front of me. I see how terrified you are of losing Anabella, and, after seeing your studio here, I know it for certain.”
Dante knitted his brows. “What do you mean?”
“You have been painting almost nonstop except for when you go to Siena to sell your work. Although I haven’t seen these paintings until now, Anabella had mentioned to me that you had resumed using her as your main subject. And she, too, expressed worry to me that you were working too hard. She’s afraid you’re trying to bury yourself in your work so you won’t be faced with the possibility that she might not make it. But now that I see just how many paintings you have created, I see this has become an obsession for you.”
“That is absurd! This is my livelihood, and, with Anabella’s medical bills, I cannot afford to start taking it easy!” He turned his back on Signora Ferraro and busied himself with adding a few more strokes to the painting he was working on.
“Please, Dante, don’t be offended. I know you are painting at a frenzied pace and only painting Anabella because you are trying to ensure she stays alive if she does not make it. And don’t tell me I’m wrong. Anabella told me how, when you first met her, you admitted to her that initially it was difficult for you to part with your paintings of her. And she’s noticed you are not taking as many paintings as you normally do for your exhibits. But the real reason I know this has become an obsession for you is that it reminds me of my obsession.”
Dante had stopped painting as he listened to Signora Ferraro’s words, which were all true. He’d known deep down this was why he’d returned to making Anabella his sole subject in all his works and why he’d created so many. He needed to still have her with him if she died. He needed to remember every nuance of her expressions, every curve of her body, every detail of her beauty. He couldn’t forget, but more important, he didn’t want Valeria and Mariella to forget their mother. He was doing this as much for them as for himself.
He let out a deep sigh and went over to sit on the lower steps leading down to the basement. Signora Ferraro had returned her attention to the paintings. She was staring at one in particular. It featured Anabella, seen from the back, walking through a row of sunflower fields. Off in the distance, a hazy shadow of elaborate buildings stood.
“Is this supposed to represent Anabella leaving? Leaving our world?” Signora Ferraro looked up at Dante.
He paused for a moment before nodding. He then added, “You are quite good at analyzing art.”
She smiled. “I’ve lived more than half a century. It doesn’t take a master’s degree in art history to understand life.”
“That is true.”
Signora Ferraro stared at the painting once more, but her attention seemed elsewhere as her eyes took on a faraway look.
“Is it true that you detest sunflowers?”
She looked up, slightly startled by the question. “How did you—” She stopped for a moment. “Ah. Anabella told you.”
“She remembered you having very strong reactions to them
when she was a child, and you forbid her from having them in the house.”
Signora Ferraro looked incredibly sad. Dante instantly regretted asking her about the sunflowers.
“That is true, I am afraid. I scared her as a child and went into a rage when I saw she had sunflowers in her room. And whenever we drove by a sunflower field, I would scold her if she pointed them out to me. I didn’t mean to frighten her or make her hate them too.”
“May I ask why you started this rose farm, Signora Ferraro, especially since you didn’t come from a family of farmers? It seems like such a huge undertaking for a single mother.”
“It all began when I was a young woman, not long after the Germans had occupied Florence, where I lived with my family.”
“Anabella told me when we were in Florence that you were originally from there. Why did you leave?”
“I had to. I had no one there any longer, and it wasn’t safe—for me or for Anabella.”
Dante waited for her to continue.
“You see, Dante, Anabella’s father and I were part of the Resistance.”
“You?” Dante could not hide the shock in his voice.
Signora Ferraro laughed as she lowered herself onto the step next to Dante.
“Si. This bitter old woman who overprotected her daughter and kept her secluded on this immense rose nursery worked for the Italian Resistance.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so shocked.”
“It is all right. Sometimes when I think back to that time, I am still amazed that I became a part of it. But, you see, it is so true when they say that love can make you do the craziest things, not that working to rid Florence and Italy of the Germans was crazy. Besides Anabella, I’ve never been more proud of anything I have done—even more than starting this rose farm.”
“Please go on, Signora Ferraro.”
“I didn’t always hate sunflowers. In fact, I used to love them. My father had a sunflower garden behind our house. He wanted to replicate in a small way the vast fields of sunflowers he’d see whenever he drove through the Tuscan countryside. Michele, my brother, and I used to love playing in the sunflower garden. And when I became a teenager and into my twenties, the sunflower garden was my haven where I could be alone and daydream. It was in my father’s sunflower garden where I met Franco, Anabella’s father. He immediately intrigued me. . . .”
As Dante listened to Signora Ferraro narrate the story of how she had met and fallen in love with Franco and how he had convinced her to work for the Resistance, Dante finally began to understand her and what had led to her fierce protection of Anabella. But he wasn’t prepared for the details toward the end of her story as she related how her family had been taken from their home and burned in a leather warehouse with most of their other neighbors while she watched the flames engulf the building, knowing her loved ones were dying a torturous death . . . how she had witnessed Franco and two of the other members of the Resistance being executed in her father’s sunflower garden . . . how she had walked up to the soldiers afterward and shot them.
“So you see I had to get Anabella out of there right away. We drove to Siena, where I rented a room from an old widow. I didn’t know how long I would be able to stay there since I only had so much money on me. And then, just two weeks after Franco was killed, Florence was liberated. Can you believe that? Just two weeks.” Signora Ferraro shook her head. “For months, I kept asking God why He couldn’t have let Franco live. We were so near to the end. But it wasn’t to be. The retreating Germans destroyed what they could of the city. They blew up all of its bridges except for the Ponte Vecchio, and they murdered many of the partisans out in public—in the streets and piazzas. Many of the people whom Franco and I had worked with in the Resistance were among those partisans who were murdered.
“After the Germans left, I returned to Florence. I packed up whatever valuables were left in my father’s house and put the house up for sale. We went back to Siena. It took a little more than a year to sell my father’s house. Once I had the money from the proceeds, we headed for Pienza.
“I bought this house and land quite cheaply. After I acquired the property, I tended the fields to rid them of their weeds and I discovered, the more I worked the land, the better I felt. It was easy for me to lose myself in the work and not think about the war and all I had lost. One day while I was out on the property, I began thinking about the white roses Franco gave me. He loved it when I wore one in my hair or attached it to my dress. So I decided to plant a small white rose garden. And then the other gardens followed soon afterward. Naturally, I had to wait until the following year for the roses to bloom in order to be able to start selling them, and I knew it would take a few years until I had enough roses to sustain a profitable business. So, until then, I lived off the savings my father had left behind, and I baked goods and sold them to the bakery in the village. I also took in whatever seamstress work I could get from the townspeople. Money was very tight, but we made it through, and then God blessed me with these roses. Once my gardens were in full bloom and word spread that I was not only selling the flowers but that they were among the most exquisite roses one could find for miles, Anabella and I never struggled again financially.”
“So that is what you meant when you said you had your own obsession? You became obsessed with growing more roses and expanding the farm out of fear that you and Anabella would not have enough money to live off of?”
“No. I didn’t get the idea for turning the rose garden into a business right away. Initially, when I planted the seeds for the rose garden, I was just going to have my one special white rose garden.”
“Anabella told me about your special garden and how she was forbidden to take roses from it or to play in that garden. She also told me how terrible she felt that she had destroyed it when she was angry with you after you told her we could no longer see each other.”
Signora Ferraro nodded. “Although it’s taken me a long time, I have grown to realize she never meant to hurt me when she left with you. When I started that rose garden, it was in tribute to Franco’s memory as well as to the memory of my family. I then started remembering other people I had known who had lost their lives in the war. So I decided to plant more roses in honor of them. And then I couldn’t stop. The more people I discovered who had been killed in Florence, the more I wanted to honor them in this small way.”
“So these roses represent all the lives that were lost in Florence during the war?” Dante thought about the vast rose farm. As he pictured all the roses, it became easier for him to envision just how many people had been killed. He suddenly felt moved in a way he had never felt before.
Signora Ferraro nodded in answer to his question. “As long as Anabella and I were alive to tend to the gardens and ensure there would be new roses every year, the memories of those who had died during the war would be kept alive in this small way. I suppose that is why I also took it so hard when she went off to Florence with you and started a new life. I thought there would be no one left to keep the garden going.”
“But you have all of these workers.”
“True, but even if the farm was bought by someone else and it continued to exist as a rose nursery, it wouldn’t be the same. There wouldn’t be one of my descendants to watch over my special white rose garden. My legacy—my family’s legacy—would be lost. After Anabella and I were no longer talking, I imagined she would sell the farm once I died, especially since she was angry with me and probably wanted nothing more to do with the farm.”
“You are so wrong, Signora Ferraro. She has missed the roses. I was hesitant about taking you up on your offer to come live here while Anabella recovered. I was afraid it would be too much of a burden for you to care for her and the twins, especially when I would be away. But as soon as I mentioned your invitation, she immediately said she wanted to be here. There was a light in her eyes that I hadn’t seen since before that day we left for Florence. She loves you very much. And the rose farm will always be her home
.”
Signora Ferraro remained silent for a moment before resuming her story. “One night, Franco came to me in a dream and told me I had to start selling the flowers. He said they would be my salvation. I didn’t realize it then that he wasn’t just talking about my financial salvation, but also my emotional salvation. After he died, I cried myself to sleep every night. And even sometimes during the day when I was with Anabella, I would sob uncontrollably. Poor Anabella would come over to me and plant little kisses on my face to make me stop. If it weren’t for her and my rose farm, I would have had a complete nervous breakdown. I am sure of that.”
“Franco came to you in your dreams just as Anabella came to me in mine.” Dante looked pensive as he said this.
“Si. So now you know why I have this immense rose nursery and my obsession behind it. Now you know why the crazy rose lady became the way she did.” Signora Ferraro wiped her brow with the back of her hand as she took a deep breath. “I’ve never told anyone this story before. And no one knows that I killed two men to avenge my husband’s death and to protect my child.”
Dante placed his hand over hers. “You did the right thing. I can’t even imagine how frightened you were. Signora Ferraro, you are a very strong woman—a survivor. Never forget that or what you did for your daughter.”
Signora Ferraro pursed her lips, closing her eyes tightly for a moment as if she were trying to close the chest of memories she had opened.
“Have you ever thought about telling Anabella? She knows so little about her father, and she doesn’t even know the truth of how he died. She thinks he was a soldier.”
“I thought I was protecting her by not telling her the truth about the horrific way that Franco and my family died. After all, how do you tell a child something like that? And then when she became an adult, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell her—or rather I couldn’t bring myself to relive those awful days. The pain . . .” Signora Ferraro took a deep breath before continuing. “The pain was unbearable. I’d never felt pain like that. I didn’t want to feel such enormous grief again. Most of all, I wanted to shield Anabella from that ugliness, just like I wanted to guard her from the outside world so that no one could hurt her the way I had been hurt. Everyone is right. I am crazy. Who in life can escape being hurt? It was absurd that I thought I could control her fate. I see that now. I also acted out of fear of losing another loved one. After I lost my entire family and the love of my life, I couldn’t bear ever being apart from Anabella. The irony is that I tried so hard to prevent Anabella from getting hurt, then instead I ended up being the one who hurt her terribly, and I pushed her away. I don’t know how she has forgiven me. To think I’ve wasted these past few years by my stubborn refusal to go to her, and now I might lose her forever.” Signora Ferraro placed her hands over her face as she wept into them.
The Sunflower Girl Page 29
