She dropped her purse on the counter that separated the living room from the tiny kitchen. A door to the left of the short hallway opened into the compact bathroom. Yay! A tub. A stacked washer and dryer sat in the corner next to shelves filled with linens and towels.
Across the hallway was a small bedroom consisting of a single twin bed and a tiny closet. In the larger bedroom, the double bed took up most of the space with a small chifforobe against the adjacent wall. She opened the chifforobe’s doors and froze. The scent of Nonna’s signature fragrance floated in the air. Charly embraced the subtle aroma of roses with a mixture of mandarin and cedar wood. The smell carried her to a warm familiar place—Nonna’s hugs.
A rush of emotion brought tears. With clouded vision, Charly unpacked her suitcase and filled the empty dresser drawers. As she moved to the chifforobe to hang her clothes, the front-door lock jangled. She rushed to the front door and opened it.
André Lagneaux stared at her, keys dangling in one hand.
~*~
“You?” André stared at Charly. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you following me? I’ll call the police.”
“Wait. I rented this house.”
“This is my house. How could you have rented it? There must be some mistake.”
He glanced at his confirmation letter. The same address listed on the box attached to the fence. “Nope. No mistake. See right here. Approved by a Mr. Antonio Riggaletta.”
“That’s my caretaker. I didn’t know he was renting it out. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay somewhere else. I’m staying here. I’ve inherited this house from my nonna.”
So that’s what made her seem so sad and reserved. She’d lost her grandmother.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
The guarded expression eased, and she gave a half-hearted smile. “Thank you, but I’m afraid Antonio is out of town until next week. You can get your deposit when he returns.”
“Um, that would be great, but the reason my parents rented this place was because there are no available rooms anywhere.”
“I’m sorry, André, but you can’t stay here.”
André didn’t want to call Edmond and Juliette. But then again, what choice did he have? He propped his suitcase next to the wall and unzipped a compartment to retrieve the address and phone number. His stomach growled.
Charly looked around. “Was that your stomach?”
“Yep. I was ready to relax and order a pizza at the place around the corner.” He fumbled with the zipper as he held the suitcase with one hand.
She opened the door. “Come in.”
He entered the small house. Nice, clean, and comfortable. He would have liked it here. Alone. For the next five weeks he’d be sleeping on the couch at his brother’s house.
Otto
Charly sighed as she closed the front door.
André was now on his way down the street to his brother’s house a few blocks away. Most people in his position would have been disagreeable about the mix-up, but he’d sympathized with her over the loss of her grandmother.
She’d never before looked twice at a man whose hair was longer than her own. What kind of job allowed him five weeks off? Did he even have a job? Charly turned back to the kitchen. A twinge of guilt gripped. Had she judged too sharply? Her heart said yes.
Her own stomach growled. Pizza sounded good.
When she entered the pizzeria, freshly baked pies set her taste buds watering. She tried to summon the few words she’d learned from her Italian college roommate. “Pizza, formaggio.” The word for cheese, she was almost sure. As she pointed to the picture of the crust she wanted, the door opened.
“I’m so glad you came. We were going to have cereal for dinner, but I love pizza,” a little girl’s voice said in English.
“Well, in that case, I’m glad I came, too.”
Charly turned at the familiar sound.
A beautiful little girl was holding André’s hand. Her dark hair fell in bouncing curls along her shoulders and back. She gazed at André, her shining eyes overflowing with admiration.
“Well, hello there, Charly.”
“Hello, André.”
“How can you know somebody here already?” The young girl’s brow furrowed.
“We met on the train. My name is Charly. What’s yours?” She knelt a little and met the child’s gaze.
The girl turned toward André.
He nodded.
She turned back toward Charly. “I’m Isabella and this is my parrain.”
“Well, hello, Isabella. It’s very nice to meet you. So what is a parrain?”
André stooped as well and tickled Isabella. “I’m her godfather. Isn’t that right, my little Izzie?”
She giggled then threw her arms around André’s neck. “Si, my parrain came to see me.”
André lifted her.
“You are a very lucky girl to have your godfather come all the way to Italy just to see you.”
Charly picked up her pizza and headed back to her house with a wave to Isabella and a nod to André.
“Hope to see you again,” he called.
While the same hope stirred in her heart, she squashed it before it could fully materialize. She didn’t need to see André again.
~*~
André finished his pizza and helped Juliette clean the kitchen. “I’m so sorry to barge in like this. When will Edmond be here?”
Juliette placed the last plate into the dishwasher. “He should be here any minute. We’re glad you’re here, so stop apologizing. Isabella adores you and I believe both girls need you in their life.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I loved spending time with them this evening. I hate that I missed so much. I should have come more often, and sooner.”
“Tell that to your brother when he comes home in about an hour. I texted him to let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks, Juliette.”
“I’m sorry we don’t have a larger bed for you to sleep in, but I moved Marielle in with Isabella so you can have her twin bed. I tidied up, moved a few things around, and put your suitcase in there while you were getting pizza. I also moved the princess dollhouse out.” She laughed. “Marielle was afraid you’d take it back to America with you.”
“Don’t think we have to worry about that.”
“Come, I’ll show you to your room if you want to freshen up before Edmond gets home.”
Juliette went up the stairs and down a long hallway. She opened the door and flipped the light switch. Pink walls, a pink ruffled bedspread, a hot pink, skirt-y thing touched the floor and circled the bed, and a princess lamp stood on a white dresser next to the bed.
“Wow, lots of pink.”
“Sorry.”
He gave his sister-in-law’s shoulder a squeeze. “No need to apologize. I’m grateful for the bed. Especially with such short notice. Thank you.”
She opened the door across the hallway. “Here’s the bathroom. Everything you need is in there.”
An hour later, André, showered and changed, sat in the living room waiting for his brother.
“I’ll let you two catch up.” Juliette bid him goodnight and slipped off to her bedroom.
“Welcome to Italy, lil’ brother.” Edmond grinned as he walked into the kitchen and extended his hand. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you,” André answered, tugging Edmond into a manly hug with a backslap.
“’Bout time you get out here to see your godchild and niece. Want something to drink?”
André pointed to his half-empty glass of water. “I’m good.”
Edmond opened the refrigerator and poured a tall glass of milk. “We’re working pretty hard these days. We just returned from a training mission and needed to get our gear combat-ready and supplies restocked. How was your flight?”
“Fine. Long.”
Edmond glanced at the wall clock. “Oh wow, I bet. Get any sleep on the plane?”
André shook his head. When he thought of Edmond deploying, a gut-wrenching thought seized him. What if Edmond didn’t return?
Nove
Charly, munching on pizza, opened the letter from Nonna while sitting on her grandmother’s bed.
My Dearest Charleston,
I hope you have found the time to visit my homeland. The house in Cavazzale is my own special place. I worked for the woman who once owned it, and she left it to me when she died. That is why it was so important that I leave it to you. I cherished the little place near the asilo. I used it as my personal sanctuary whenever I returned to Italy. Of course, with my cousin Antonio and his wife, Maria, close by, I spent very little time alone when I visited. Cavazzale, like most Italian villages, moves at a slower pace, and family is very important.
I know you’re interested in your career and your boyfriend, but there is so much more to life than a job and a relationship with the wrong person. I’ve probably upset you with that statement, but I’m sure if you stop to think about it, you’ll see that Brady is not the man for you. You need someone kind and self-assured. Someone compassionate and smart. While Brady might have book smarts, he doesn’t have the other qualities that would make him the perfect mate. Not for you.
If you’re at the house, I’ve left a diary for you to read. It contains some of my best past moments and some of my worst. I hope you’ll help to rectify one of my greatest mistakes. There’s more in the diary. It involves a friendship lost. The third key in the envelope is for the locked closet at the end of the hallway. In there you will find my diary and some of my favorite possessions. They are now yours. Enjoy them. Use them.
I hope you know how very much I loved you and prayed for you each and every day.
Until we meet again,
Nonna.
Nonna knew Brady wasn’t the man for Charly but had respected her wishes.
Would Charly have listened had Nonna said anything? Probably not. She foraged through her purse to find the closet key and placed it on the tiny nightstand.
What could be in Nonna’s diary that was so important? Rectify a wrong? A friendship lost?
Charly’s eyelids grew heavy and she struggled to keep them opened. Whatever secrets Nonna’s diary held would have to wait until tomorrow. She trashed the empty pizza box, readied for bed, and then slipped between the sheets. The scent of Acqua di Parma lulled her to sleep.
~*~
André tossed and turned in the narrow bed. His feet hung off the edge, and a doll nightlight glared into his face. He climbed out of bed to unplug it. When he returned to bed, he stepped on something hard and heard a loud snap. A tug on the string of the princess light showed the damage. A broken crown lay on the floor. He gathered the pieces and put them on the dresser. He’d figure out how to replace it later.
Darkness enveloped. He fondly relived his recent conversation with Edmond, his encounters with Charly, and the fun he’d had with his nieces.
A familiar Christmas tune gonged from outside the window. It was 9:00 p.m. How did they sleep with the obnoxious bells tolling overhead?
André reached for the extra pillow and covered his head.
The bells stopped.
As his lids grew heavy, he moved the extra pillow and hugged it.
Heavy breathing caused him to hold his breath and listen. There was someone next to his bed. He turned on the princess lamp again.
Three-year-old Marielle stared at him. “Uncle André, I had a bad dream.” She sniffed and climbed onto the side of the bed.
“Oh, honey. It’s OK. It’s only a dream. Want me to tuck you back into bed?”
She shook her head. “I want to sleep in my bed.”
Poor kid. She’d been moved onto a makeshift bed on the floor in her sister’s room. Things can look pretty scary from the floor. “Sure, I’ll tuck you in here and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Would you read me a story first?”
How could he say no to that cute face? “Sure, pick one out.”
Her little feet shuffled toward a bookshelf and she lifted a brightly colored book from the end. “This is my favorite.” She snuggled into his lap.
By the time he’d finished the story, Marielle was asleep against his chest. He lifted her and slid sideways, lowered her onto her pillow, and gently covered her. She hadn’t opened her eyes.
He gathered his electronic reader and the other pillow before turning out the light and heading for the living room. On the couch, the leather’s coolness brushed his arms. With only an afghan for cover and a foot less couch than he needed, he tried to settle in and get comfortable. The ribbing on the cushions pushed against his sides. It was almost 11:00 p.m. Maybe if he read for a while. He opened his tablet.
The words blurred. He couldn’t push away thoughts of Charly. Why was she alone during the holidays? Would it be worth getting to know her?
André turned onto his side and bent his knees so he could fit on the couch. His last thoughts were of Charly’s blonde hair waving in the breeze as her soft blue eyes and smile beckoned him closer.
Dieci
In the early morning chill, Charly strolled to the local coffee and pastry shop a block from her house.
“Buongiorno.” A man and a woman behind the counter greeted her in unison.
She replied with the same greeting, wishing them a good morning as well. Her Italian was limited, but she was confident she’d be able to order. The opposite wall of the tiny pasticceria held glass cases filled with cookies, pastries, and bread. The top row held several types of brioche. She’d try a new one every day for the next week. She pointed to the chocolate brioche and held up one finger.
“Per qui?” he asked.
“Si, per qui.” She wanted to watch the steady stream of patrons coming to get breakfast—coffee and something sweet. Her college friend’s words filtered into her mind. Italians don’t eat heavy breakfasts like Americans.
Nonna had made her daily coffee with a stovetop maker and had eaten some type of pastry every morning. That summer in Colorado when Charly was ten and Savannah was twelve, Nonna had given them their first cups of espresso. It was a huge mistake on Nonna’s part; they were still wide awake at midnight.
“Un cappuccino.” Charly told the woman. She followed the gentleman as he motioned her to one of the two tables along the wall of windows.
“Si.” The woman behind the counter worked to prepare her drink.
The brioche in her plate held a light dusting of confectioner’s sugar. When her coffee was brought to the table, Charly thanked the woman. “Grazie.”
“Prego,” the woman answered.
Charly savored the light, fluffy pastry. The chocolate cream, delicate and light, was not as sweet as anything back home. She took a sip of her cappuccino. With her eyes closed, she let the bold, creamy taste settle on her tongue. This was coffee heaven. She could get used to this breakfast.
Finished, she headed out to explore the town.
“Ciao.” With broad smiles on their faces the man and woman waved.
“Ciao!” Charly grinned back.
Tolling bells drew her down the street toward the church. By the time she got there, the beautiful song had ended. She stepped through a small opening leading to two double doors with single doors on each side. She pulled on the double doors—locked. When she tugged on the single door to her left, it opened.
Lingering incense and the scent of old wood greeted her. The distant sound of Italian filtered through the church, but no one sat in the pews. The lofty ceiling and ornate statues dictated quiet steps and reverence. Although small, the church’s paintings and elaborate architecture drew her to the altar. Large photos of the Shroud of Turin perched above the doors flanking either side of the altar. As she neared, a window on the left side of the altar revealed the back of a priest performing mass. A chapel?
Charly and Savannah attended church with Nonna during their summer visits. While Charly loved being with Nonna, the vivid memory of burning incense,
packed pews, and the overpowering odor of mothballs caused her to swallow and exhale.
On the altar, sturdy pillars swept upward to the overhead dome. Its beauty calmed her. She lowered onto the edge of a pew just out of sight of the chapel and let the singsong voice of the priest relax her.
Bill’s words came to mind. “God’s got this.”
Had he been laid off yet? She hoped not. “Please, let him keep his job.” Her words echoed in the empty church. Nonna always said to talk to God as though He sat in the room. Charly hadn’t practiced Nonna’s advice very often.
When she left the church, a cool breeze brushed her face despite the brilliant sunshine. She wrapped her coat tighter and tugged her scarf higher. She strolled, visiting a clothing store, a shoe store, and a small perfume shop.
By eleven, she’d decided to have an early lunch. She entered a café.
A petite waitress led her to a small table near the windows offering a perfect view of the street. Italian words flew from the waitress.
“Non capisco Italiano.”
The server nodded, smiled, and then handed her the menu with the daily specials. The server pointed to what appeared to be the daily special with two courses for one price. The primi—first course—a choice of penne, bigoli, fettuccine, or gnocchi pasta covered with either pomodoro, ragu, or anitra sauce.
Charly ordered the bigoli with anitra. The fat spaghetti pasta covered with duck sauce would be a new taste sensation. For her secondi—second choice— she pointed to one of the list of meats. This is what she’d traveled across the world to do—to be adventurous even if it was as simple as taking a chance on an unfamiliar menu item.
After lunch, she walked to the small produce store across from the coffee shop. As she drew near, the sign in the window and the lack of lights indicated they were closed. She’d forgotten about reposo—the afternoon break. Most of the stores closed at 11:30 and didn’t open again until about 4:30. She’d have to venture out again this afternoon to buy her evening meal items.
The Christmas Bells of Cavazzale Page 3
